In theory, I rock at wrapping presents. I plan out an elaborate theme at the beginning of shopping every year. All the papers complement each other. Tags, bows, all of it. Santa has different wrapping paper all together, of course. And then, since Lucas's birthday is Christmas Day, I have to have separate birthday paper for those gifts too.
So when I first start, each box is precisely wrapped, creased, tagged, and beribboned. And then, as I get bored with the project, they start to deteriorate. A week goes by, and the gifts I wrapped tonight, with that last roll of paper - the roll that's huge and cheap, for wrapping those big boxes, the ones that could fit a full grown man, should I want to give one to my children - that shit's like trying to wrap a gift in toilet paper. And after a couple glasses of wine it looks like my three year old wrapped her own gifts.
She won't care of course.
And yet, on Christmas morning, as I sit in front of the fire, sipping my coffee and watching my kids tear into gift after gift, I will cringe when I see these shoddily wrapped ones, and then sigh in relief as I ball up the toilet-papery paper and throw it on the fire.