| Register at your own risk 06/02/2001 By / The Dallas Morning News
Some people hate gift registries. To them, gift lists are impersonal,
cramp creativity and, even more tragic, never include handmade purple
ceramic lamps shaped like elephants. Or limited-edition Chia Pets. Or the
hilarious singing fish they are certain is the perfect gift.
This is why I strongly support gift registries.
Those of you who have unwrapped a hand-carved wooden flamingo on your
special day know what I mean. And you also know that, had you registered
for gifts, I would've sent you something better.
I also would've saved a lot of time. Gift lists are great for that. But
most important, gift lists make it impossible to buy the wrong gift.
At least that's what I thought before I helped pick out a wedding gift
last week.
"You can't get them a set of bowls and one place mat," my
wife said. "They registered for eight place mats."
"I know they registered for eight," I said, squinting at the
wedding-gift wish list. "Somebody else can get them the other seven. The
set of bowls and one place mat add up to $50."
Fifty dollars was our budget for the wedding gift, which doesn't go far
in a world of $150 table linens and $500 cookware sets. But we were
limited to an amount collected from co-workers of the bride-to-be, who
is a teacher. And before anyone calls teachers chintzy, you should know
how often they get hit up at work for gifts. Five bucks for Julie's
wedding gift. Five bucks for Mary's baby gift. Five bucks for Bob, the
teacher who is collecting because his nephew's neighbor, Timmy, has a
best friend who turns 6 this month.
So we were strapped financially. But my wife was determined to find the
right wedding gift. And as a good husband, I was determined to help her
as long as it took no more than 15 minutes.
"OK, so we'll get them all eight place mats," I said. "And then we can
get them the two pillows they want."
That wouldn't cut it. "The place mats are for the kitchen and the
pillows are for the bedroom," my wife said. "They don't really go
together."
Why does that matter? They're both wedding gifts. Couldn't we just wrap
the place mats and pillows in one box and call it the breakfast-in-bed
collection?
We moved on to the tableware area, where the happy couple had registered
for plates. Add tax, a card and some wrapping paper and the cost would
be right at $50. The search was over.
"But the plates are blue," my wife said. "I don't like them."
"But the bride and groom like them. They put them on their list," I
said. "Isn't that what's important?"
Not important enough to end the search. So we walked over to housewares.
We looked at griddles, pressure cookers, breadmakers and bake sets. We
crunched the numbers and tried to find the gift or gifts that best said
"Good luck on your marriage, we only had 50 bucks."
But nothing fit the criteria. So I decided to initiate the speed round
of our shopping game, throwing out anything that added up to the right
amount. "A coffeemaker and a wall clock ... two vinyl chairs and an
accent rug ... the George Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine and a bath
towel ..."
"A grilling machine and a bath towel?" my wife asked.
Well, I said, if you're standing over a grill for even a few minutes,
you'd be sweaty enough to need a shower. Then you'll have a new bath
towel to use. I thought it was perfect.
Still, we decided on a different gift. I can't say what it was because
the gift recipients might read this, but I can say that even gift
registries won't save you from the ugly truth of gift-giving.
It's never just the thought that counts.
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