Stuff I Asked For on Past Christmas Lists –
(Which reminds me to be careful what I wish for.)


Wood Carving Kit

Don’t ask me why, but I had to have a wood carving kit. I wanted it so badly I could smell the wood shavings; I imagined myself carving fine ribbons of wood from a block of pine, until I transformed it into a thing of beauty.

The problem with wood carving, for me, is I have had numerous knife accidents in my life. I love a sharp knife for cutting and chopping but I also get distracted easily – the result being a few slices here and there that caused fear in my heart and blood splatter in my kitchen.

Still, I put “wood carving kit” on my annual Christmas list and sure enough Santa brought it to me. I opened the box and saw the tools I would have to use to carve wood and instantly got that sick feeling in my stomach that said: “Attempt to use these tools, Fool, and you will carve off a thumb for sure.”

When my stomach speaks that loudly to me I listen. The wood carving kit is still pristine, in its case and hidden somewhere in the attic to protect myself from it and vice versa.

Home Electrolysis Kit

I had a simple plan. I would start removing hair on my legs beginning at my ankles, and in a year would have smooth, hair-free legs that needed no attention ever again from the likes of a razor. Again Santa tried to please me and bought the expensive guaranteed-to-work electrolysis equipment for me. And with an eagerness only known metaphorically to brides or beavers (ha), I plugged in my zapper and began my work.

As Laurenbove would say: Jebus it hurt! I zapped and squealed with each zap. I told myself to butch up and I continued until I had zapped a two inch square of leg which was now one continuous oozing red wound.

I waited to let it heal. If after healing that patch was hair-free, I would start again, but I really wasn’t a masochist at heart – I needed to see results before I’d volunteer for more pain and suffering.

In about 8 days the red wound had lessened and turned into a crispy patch of scab. Out of the scab, what seemed like a million hairs had sprouted. They were healthy, thick and now black instead of blonde. Okay, that did it for me; the zapper was placed back into the box and sent to the attic to live with the wood carving kit.

117 Piece Cake Decorating Kit

Apparently I must be drawn to kits, since my third wish was for a fancy schmancy cake decorating kit with numerous tips that would help me to create gorgeous cakes that were works of art for all to behold.

I threw a box cake in the oven and eagerly pawed through my booklet and accouterments that came with my 117 Piece Cake Decorating Kit. Should I do basket weave frosting? Should I opt for the wisteria hanging off the side of the cake colored in periwinkle blue or should I attempt the circus cake in primary colors?

Oh boy, I was prepared to have fun. I whipped up huge bowls of frosting and lined the kitchen table with newspaper. I was ready to decorate.

Unfortunately, in my state of euphoria imagining this beautiful cake I was going to make, I burnt the real one in the oven. Since, as they say, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, I found another box cake, threw that one together and placed it in the oven which was still pumping out heat waiting to cook something correctly if I’d just get the damn thing out of the oven on time.

I managed to take this cake out when it was moist and perfect and waited anxiously for it to cool. I filled my frosting bags with colored icing and selected appropriate tips to fasten onto the bags. I had my spinner-rose-creator appliance in position and my decorative “rake” that would add ripples to my frosting for an “ethereal” effect, according to the directions.

Two hours later, the fruits of my labor had produced a gray cake that looked like the cat walked on it.

It was then, I realized cake decorating must take a knack that I did not have. My frosting colors had bled one into the other; the rake had the effect of feline claws on upholstery and did not add anything near "ethereal" to the look of my confection.

The kitchen was a mess, sticky and multi-colored; the cake was the color of dun. No one eats a dun cake. Even a blind person could have sensed this cake was not appropriate for consumption.

So, with a gentleness I was not feeling in my heart, I packed up the 117 Piece Cake Decorating Kit and brought it up to the attic to nestle in the box with the two other requested, yet rejected, kits.

Since then, every time husband inquires as to what I would like for Christmas, I have to remember my kit experiences and reject any idea I might have for a present that falls under the kit category.

No kits for this kid, ever again.