One Christmas when I was still living at home, my mom asked for an electric razor. At that time internet shopping had not yet been invented, so I did some research in the many catalogs we received at the time and found one that looked good. My dad, who always tried his darnedest with gifts, took on the task of placing the order.
My dad kept the presents that he bought for my mom and me in the garage in his workbench and on a day when neither of us were home he’d wrap them on his own and they would have magically appear under the tree by the time we got home. My mom’s razor arrived in the mail packaged in a small cardboard box. Rather than open the box and have to rebox it, Dad wrapped it up the way it arrived and stuck it under the tree.
On Christmas morning, as usual, I played Santa and passed out the gifts one at a time while we watched each other open them. When I handed the package of the electric razor to my mom, my darling dad sat with a smile on his face, feeling good that he bought a gift my mom actually wanted. However, when my mom opened the box she looked inquisitively at it. “Ohhhh, thank you?” she said hesitantly. “What is it?” I asked, knowing that it was the razor he had ordered. She reached into the box to pull out the contents, but instead of pulling out a razor she pulled out a jar of cream. She read the label, “Cellulite Cream”.
My dad’s face dropped. It wasn’t what he had ordered and on top of that what did arrive could have been taken as an insult to my mom.
Of course, there was a good explanation for the tasteless Christmas gift, but there were a few tense moments before that explanation was given. It was left up to my mom to call the company and explain the situation. Her new razor arrived a couple weeks later, and they let her keep the cream. Lucky her!