Holiday Gifting

I’m Aileen Varsity-Spaunders, but you probably know me from my often remaindered coffee-table books, “Entertaining with the Money from Your First Annulment,” “Elegant Dining with Wealthy Strangers,” and my own favorite, “Weddings Without Permits in Public Atriums.”

As a noted tastemaker and hospitality authority—and I like to remind people that the word derives from the Latin root “hospital”—I’ve compiled my annual holiday gift guide, and I’m using the word “holiday” here so that my tax person will feel included.

Here are this year’s gifting tips:

A human hand. Through my contacts at local cemeteries, I like to recycle body parts for and sometimes from my closest friends. Why not cauterize a severed hand, add some just-for-fun cocktail rings, and then shatter the hand’s rigid bones with a hammer or mallet, which will allow the fingers to be wrapped around a colorful ceramic mug with a holly or mistletoe motif? Drop a packet of hot-cocoa mix into the mug, along with a decorated toenail, and place under some lucky person’s tree, although best to avoid recipients with hungry pets.

An unwanted adult child. My forty-one-year-old daughter, Andrea, has never quite “found herself,” despite careers as a flight-attendant impersonator, a sales rep for recreational fentanyl, and a clown at the birthday parties of children from broken homes. (Andrea would hiss, “Tell me about it,” and then squirt the tykes with vodka from a water pistol.) So this year I’m thinking, Why not weave a festive bow into Andrea’s hair and give her to just about anyone with a guest room or basement crawl space?

A book repurposed as a HomeGoods decorative element. Remove any volume from the shelves of your local public library, bring it home hidden under your coat, and glue all the pages together. Then drill a hole in the book’s cover large enough to hold a flickering taper, a toothbrush, or a rolled-up subpoena. An unreadable book gives the appearance that you’re a literary person but without all the hassle; sometimes I fill an entire sideboard with the collected Charles Dickens, rethought as candy dishes and caddies for discarded syringes.

Expired canned goods. Find seasonal favorites buried deep in your pantry or that of an out-of-town neighbor, obscure the expiration dates with a Sharpie, and sponge off any leakage. Then gift wrap the can and leave it in a random mailbox with a shattered Christmas ornament and a bottle of Tums. The faces of youngsters will glow as they exclaim, “Look, Mommy, Santa gave us horseradish!”

A nonworking appliance.Rather than going through the arduous headache of returning, say, a sparking microwave or a cracked humidifier, place the faulty object in its original packaging, festoon it with a cluster of plastic bayberries, and tell the first person you see at an office party, “I know this is expensive, but I thought of you, and I just couldn’t help myself.” If the person practices some obscure foreign religion, assure him or her, “A Waterpik with a missing nozzle is a traditional and popular American gift—so enough about Buddha.”

A “mystery gift.” I like to swathe an empty shoebox in candy-cane-striped foil, and, after the package is opened, call the police and report the robbery of a priceless diamond bracelet. Or put a cheap ticking clock in a gold-toned gift bag and scream at a family member to submerge it in water. It’s also jolly to take a tin filled with Danish butter cookies, gobble them down yourself, and leave a note in the tin reading “No one will tell you this, but stop eating cookies.” Sign the attached card with a hand-drawn wreath and the name of the recipient’s spouse. ♦