The Worst Christmas Ever

Once upon a time, back in the 1990s I dated a jackass. I do not kid about this fact.

It was around Christmas time, many years ago when said jackass wanted to know what I'd like. I told him--G2 Dreadwing. This was the only item I wanted for Christmas that year: I didn't want jewelry, I didn't want clothes, I just wanted that Transformer.

The days passed. I bought my gifts for my jackass boyfiend and my other friends. Then one day, the jackass tells me that he's done his shopping and he got an extra special, completely awesome gift for me. He swears I'll love it.

My heart jumps. Oh God, I think. He got me Dreadwing! I can barely wait until I get my gift.

When we have our party, I'm practically dancing with delight. I can barely wait to rip the wrapping paper off my brand new TF.

We go through the usual stuff, we trade gifts, rip them open, thank each other. I'm impatiently waiting to get my "special" gift; the jackass has been swearing for days that I will absolutely adore it.

Then the moment comes. My jackass boyfiend and one of my other friends comes out, dragging a large box. They then launch into a song: "The 12 Days of Yaksmas".

A Ren and Stimpy song.

Did I mention that I hated Ren and Stimpy? And that my jackass bf loved to exploit that?

The special gift was little more than a damned joke. I was pissed.

I spent the rest of the party outside, so pissed I couldn't see straight. It was not a good night.

Thankfully, the jackass wised up a little and realized that he had hurt my feelings. So to smooth things over, he bought Dreadwing for me that night. At least that didn't suck.

As for the crap in the giant box--most of it got pitched. The only thing I kept were the socks.

They lasted longer than my ex. They also were a lot more useful.