My Dad, #1Pop, has never been into presents. The giving part. He loves receiving, and often spends Christmas morning eyeing off everyone elses gifts to ensure that his pile is larger than the rest. But don't ever expect him to take charge of giving presents. Not his thing. Not his job.
One year, he forgot #1Nana's birthday entirely, and rushed out to the nearest shop to get a card - the local $2 shop. He grabbed a card, filled it with thoughful gifts like cash and lotto tickets, wrote what I can only assume was a heart felt single sentence, and presented it to #1Nana as if he'd had it in his back pocket for ages.
What had totally escaped his frantic efforts, was the fact that it was a Christmas card.
In February.
For her birthday.
As a result of such stuff up's, it usually takes a year of plotting and planning from #1 Nana, followed by carefully crafted passive coercion on my part, to convince #1Pop what to get #1Nana for Christmas. It often ends with me chastising him days before the big day, and him then handing over his wallet and/or credit card for me to go get whatever #1Nana's had her eye on.
It's a good system. It works well.
Until last Christmas - which is only just being blogged now, as #1Nana's Christmas gift from #1Pop only recently arrived.
And boy was it worth the wait!
For the rest of us, not for her.
You see, #1Pop bought #1Nana this, after answering his very first telesales call in all of his years on this planet:
Genie bra : grounds for divorce
I’m almost a little disappointed that I knew it was coming in advance. I think the snigger factor would’ve been far more awesome, had it been a total surprise to me, as my Mother eagerly opened her long awaited Christmas giftage from her husband of eons.
But instead, I knew in advance, as Dad had called me to double check her size.
Now, trust me Peeps, I did protest after I regained my composure and tried not to test my poorly pelvic floor muscles any further.
I strongly suggested he re-think the gift idea. In fact, I believe I even suggested that a man-sized shovel so she could do her own grunt work in the garden, would’ve gone down better.
But that wasn’t the point, obviously.
And armed with nothing more than the wise telesales consultant’s advice to “order the same size as the rest of your clothing”, it was a done deal.
Order the same size as the rest of your clothing
What a unique concept! Gee, I wish I could rely on that with one single type of clothing, or even one single brand. Is there any female out there who can honestly say that every single item of clothing they own is the one single size? And I don’t want to hear from you if you’re below a size 10. Possibly not even then.
Here’s how our conversation went, while #1Pop had the telesales dude on the other line (yes, they had a young man of questionable origin making cold sales calls to try and sell Genie Bra’s…).
#1Pop: “George, it’s Dad. What size is your Mum’s bra?”
Me: Cough, splutter “Ahhh…what?”
#1Pop: “Quick, I've got the guy on the other line and I’m getting her one of those sports bra things from TV. I need to know what size to get.”
Me: “Dad…there's no set size, and I can't say I've ever wanted to know that much about Mum's chest. There's a huge range of bra size options, and trust me, you wouldn't want to get it wrong.”
#1Pop: “It’s okay, it’s all stretchy stuff”
Me: “You mean…elastic?”
#1Pop: “Yeah”
Me: “That’ll probably actually make it worse, and much harder to put on.”
#1Pop: “Heh, yep”
My light bulb moment.
Me: “Ahhh. So you’re just being a smart ass with this heart felt and over-priced piece of crap Christmas gift?”
#1Pop: “Yep. And I’m getting her three, heh.”
So the package finally arrives :
He even claimed gift wrapping points on account of the clear plastic
complete with printed personalised note :
LOVE, THOUGHT YOU COULD USE THESE FOR A BIT OF A LIFT. ROUND 'EM UP AND HEAD 'EM OUT. HO HO HO
#1 Pop, ladies and gentlemen – the grandfather of dry wit and sarcasm.
On another note : For Sale. Three unused Genie Bra’s. Totally unworn after they got stuck half way down #1Nana’s arms, and we let her flail around like an erect sausage for a minute before coming to her rescue.
Best. Visual Comedy Gag. Ever.
