Every year, as my birthday approaches, I am filled with a sense of dread. Not because I am getting older, but because I know the inevitable gift-giving ritual that will follow. Friends and family, well-intentioned as they may be, insist on showering me with presents that I neither need nor want. It’s not that I am ungrateful. I appreciate the thought and effort that goes into each gift, but I simply have too much stuff. My closets are overflowing, my shelves are laden with books I’ll never read, and my drawers are filled with gadgets I never use.
This year, I was determined to break the cycle. I resolved to politely decline any and all gifts, no matter how well-meaning. I would not allow myself to be burdened with more unwanted possessions.
However, my plan was quickly thwarted by my dear friend, who refused to take no for an answer. “It’s your birthday,” she insisted. “You have to tell me what you want.”
I tried to explain my predicament, but she wouldn’t listen. “Just give me one suggestion,” she pleaded. “Anything at all.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Look, I don’t need anything,” I said. “I can’t use another thing.”
Undeterred, she persisted. “Okay, fine,” she said. “I won’t ask anymore. I’ll just get you a sweater.”
“You got me that last year,” I reminded her.
“No more arguments,” she declared. “I’m getting you a sweater.”
“Please,” I begged. “I have so many sweaters that the sheep in Mongolia are lined up for me.”
She ignored my pleas and launched into a detailed discussion of sweater colors. “What about green?” she suggested. “It’s a nice spring color.”
“I don’t wear green,” I protested.
“Okay, red,” she said. “What shade of red? Orange-y? Purple? Pinkish?”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t even want a sweater.”
“Don’t get cranky,” she said. “I’m just asking a simple question. Turtleneck? Long-sleeve? Buttons? No buttons? What?”
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Cardigan.”
“And what if they don’t have a cardigan?” she asked.
“Then forget the damn thing altogether,” I said. “Please. I don’t even want it.”
She paused for a moment, considering my outburst. “If not a cardigan, how about a turtleneck?” she suggested.
“A turtleneck goes over the head and ruins your hair,” I said.
“You’re being so difficult,” she said.
“I’m not being difficult,” I said. “I simply can’t think of anything I want. And I don’t want you spending money on anything that won’t work. Forget it. Send me some flowers. Or a container of chicken soup.”
“With or without a matzo ball?” she asked.
“Matzo ball,” I said.
“And what if they don’t have any matzo ball soup?” she asked.
By this point, I was at my wit’s end. I had spent the last hour arguing with my friend over a gift that I didn’t want. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t want anything for my birthday. Just forget the whole thing.”
She sighed in exasperation. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll forget it.”
And with that, she hung up the phone.
I sat there for a moment, feeling frustrated and defeated. I had failed in my attempt to break the cycle of unwanted gifts. But then I remembered the words of the immortal Sigmund Freud: “No, you’re not paranoid. No, you’re not being followed. You just have toilet paper stuck to your shoe.”
I smiled to myself. Maybe I was being a little bit paranoid. Maybe my friend was just trying to be nice. But at the end of the day, it’s my birthday, and I should be able to get what I want.
Which is nothing.
