Because I am apparently the most disorganised person on the planet and didn't realise it was December until last week, I've been fretting a little about Christmas presents. The guilt-o-metre got pushed up a notch as gifts and cards from thoughtful friends overseas started arriving in the mail box (people who are a lot more organised than me and who I'm sure I don't deserve to count as friends).
I sat down on the weekend and wrote out the list of things to do. I've ordered a few things online, and picked up some bits and pieces, but am nowhere near "done", and I simply couldn't think of anything to offer Sylvain's mum and his sister. Sylvain was being no help whatsoever on that front. They've both got everything they could possibly need, and have very particular tastes, so it makes things very difficult to find a thoughtful and meaningful gift.
So I did what any disorganised and guilt-ridden girl would have done, and I threw a hissy fit. Complete with foot stamping and dishevelled hair at the end of it all.
Sylvain looked at me solemnly, with worry in his eyes, and said "Listen, if it's upsetting you so much, I can do the shopping for you. There's a shopping centre near my work and ..."
There was a moment of dead silence as we looked at each other.
The way his face changed colours, from pink, to white, to green, as he realised the magnitude of what he had just offered to do, especially given his tendency to break out in a rash when he is in large crowds, was very interesting indeed, and more than worth the energy of my hissy fit.
"I mean... I mean..." he stammered.
I shook with laughter. It took me a few minutes to stop. Sylvain's face needed that time to slowly return to its normal colour.
"It's ok, my dear." I said. "I can do it."
"Oh good," he spluttered. "I don't think that it would have been pretty..."
Every time I've gotten cranky at myself for not being more organised this year (a fairly common occurence actually, who ever said 'tis the season to be freaking jolly?), I think of Sylvain's face turning a multitude of different colours and know that even if I'm having trouble thinking of presents, at least I enjoy shopping and I can handle the crowds.
I just asked him what he would do if, in a parallel universe, I wasn't here to buy the Christmas presents. He looked at me in confusion, which in turn rapidly transformed into full-blown panic.
I patted his arm and told him not to worry, that he could always rely on gift vouchers.
I've got to stop torturing the boy.