Wrapsody ‘n Blue

The three wise men described in the Bible were married, and I can prove it. See, nothing in Scripture mentions anything about Mary and Joseph expressing cries of horror and disgust at the way the gold, frankincense and myrhh presented to the Christ child were wrapped. That can mean only one thing: the magi let their wives do the wrapping (they weren’t called “wise men” for nothing).

I just finished wrapping my Christmas gifts to MLB, and once more I was reminded that God has a great sense of humor. He saw fit to give me opposable thumbs, while withholding the ability to use them for any purpose involving packages, wrapping paper and Scotch tape. Once again this year, the real estate under the tree will be scattered with glittering jewel-like creations with invisible seams and perfect bows (as performed by MLB), interspersed with shambling hulks apparently assembled by cross-eyed rhinos with ADHD and bad attitudes (my contributions).

In my defense, my wife bears part of the responsibility for this sorry state of affairs. For some reason known only to her and Hallmark, she chose to invest in many rolls of mylar wrapping paper. Now, mylar is a wonderful product, when used properly. It’s tough as the proverbial nail; my sailboard has a mylar sail, capable of handling the gustiest of winds. The Library of Congress uses mylar overlays to preserve documents, and space-going vehicles employ mylar collector panels to capture photons for their solar-powered motors. But…give careful heed…mylar is an abomination to the practice of gift wrapping.

Mylar’s raison d’être is simple: to lay flat. It resists all efforts to conform it to another shape, say, a gift box. It’s nature’s ultimate anti-chaos device, and it was never ever intended to be used as gift wrap.

Never mind that my wife can employ it to exquisite perfection. My attempts to use it inevitably require the application of products adorned with the names of “Craftsman” and “Black & Decker.” The beautiful shiny finish that otherwise screams “Christmas joy!” loses its impact when outlined with duct tape.

Mylar wrapping paper just won’t cooperate. It’s that simple. I’m sure there are many heart-warming, Norman-Rockwellian Christmas scenes to be conjured by the wrapping of presents, but I somehow suspect that my employing of both hands, one foot and my nose to a package, while fully astride the dining room table, with the dog cowering in her crate seeking refuge from the awful noises I generate, isn’t one of them.

I can tell already that the theme of Christmas 2004 will be “gift bags.” I’m wise that way.