Whist perusing the local op-shops I stumbled upon a couple of goodies. But my catch of the day was an excellent 50s style shirt by Misery. When I saw it on the hanger I immediately snatched it up for fear that someone else may swoop in and score it. (Strange how op-shopping brings out your inner vulture.) I hurried into the changing room to try it and sadly, it did not fit. Try as I might I just couldn't squeeze the buttons together over my boobs. 'What a shame' I thought 'and it's in perfect condition too'. And then I remembered, my Mother's boobs are smaller than mine! Hooray! Birthday gift number one sorted. I know you should never disclose the price of a gift but it was such a steal I have to. Three dollars! Less than a cup of coffee! Bargain!
Measuring the ingredients slowly and carefully. Popping it in the oven and then lovingly nursing it to make sure than it doesn't burn. That's love right there. If you love someone. Bake them a fucking cake.
stumped. What on earth could I give my Mother as a gift if it can't be new? But then I remembered, every year I struggle to find the right gift for her. Even when I have a mall full of options I dither over what she'll like more. I go from place to place comparing items and work myself into a state trying to find the 'best' gift. This time by reducing the options I actually found it easier and much more enjoyable. Maybe the 'best' gifts aren't bought new. Maybe they have to be found, crafted or baked.