Budget Vogue: Hubby Looking Good In Those Tommy Bahama Pants

By SUSAN DROMEY HEETER, Budget Vogue, InDepth NH

Here at my Budget Vogue desk, I contemplate gifts — holiday gifts, birthday gifts, wedding gifts.

You might think I am quite adept at giving presents but it is not one of my strong suits. Spending as much time as I do in thrift stores, I am deeply familiar with excess, with too much, with “no thanks, I already have five.” While the sentiment behind giving gifts is lovely, today I look at ideas on generosity and presents as we enter the season of consumption. Come along, Voguers, do join in…

My husband and I rarely exchange gifts. The last gift I gave him were some Tommy Bahama pants I thrifted - they fit him like a glove and every time he wears them he remarks, “I LOVE these pants!” There was no occasion, no event, I just thought of my beloved while perusing the men’s section. That’s often how I’ll gift - when I see pristine children’s pajamas, Hanna Anderssen or Gap, I purchase them and gift them to my friend, Anne, so she might use them for her grandchildren’s sleepovers. BUT, and this is vital, I’ve asked her before I inundate her with items if she wants them. And that, dear friends, is a gift in and of itself.

I’ve learned to ask prior to buying a gift. Sure, it takes the surprise and fun out of some of the shopping but that camera on my phone has been a lifesaver. When I spotted a Rick Owens black strapless dress WITH POCKETS at one of my favorite thrift haunts I immediately texted the photo to my gorgeous daughters and nieces and asked if they wanted it. Not one did. WHAT? Full disclosure, I bought it anyway. I’m thinking they may change their minds once they see it in person. If not? Hey, there's always Poshmark.

I have a friend who bought a gift for her friend, a personalized sweatshirt, and her friend remarked, “I’m uncomfortable with gifts” and donated the sweatshirt. Needless to say, my friend was deeply hurt. The only thing one should say upon receiving ANY gift is, “Thank you so much!” And then, well, what you do with that sweatshirt or vase or whatever is up to you. Although, full disclosure, I did have my Aunt Mary once remark, upon receiving a mug I'd bought for her, “What the hell am I going to do with this?” But, that was Aunt Mary, she always spoke her truth and, honestly, she was exceedingly minimalist, the type of person who had two spoons, two glasses and a cookie jar in her bachelorette apartment. She really did not know what to do with that mug. I still laugh. After her death, Aunt Mary’s apartment took about twenty minutes to pack up. And THAT was a gift.

My sister-in-law, Anne, is a tremendous gift giver. Recently, to celebrate both my husband and my retirement, she sent a box from the New York Steak and Seafood Company. Wow. The gift of delicious food? No need to dust? No need to make sure it’s out when she visits? Fabulousness. Deliciousness. Perfection.

There are so many ways to gift. When I think of one of my favorite presents EVER it was from my sister, Kate. It was my birthday and she came with me to a thrift store. She picked up a half burnt candle, handed it to me and said, “Happy Birthday!” And we laughed. I think of that moment and delight, the gift of time and a laugh is priceless.

And, dear Budget Voguers, may you enjoy your time and belly laughs this upcoming season of holidays and stuff. And need a reminder that we all have too much? Head to your nearest thrift store with a friend or your sister, look around and search out a candle.

Susan Dromey Heeter writes from Newmarket and often from the road where she joyfully muses on life in the fast and slow lanes. She drives a stick shift, can also ride a unicycle and recently retired after 30+ years of teaching. Dromey Heeter finds joy primarily in Milk Duds and people who make her laugh, not necessarily in that order. Follow Susan @dromeyheeter on Instagram and/or @BudgetVogue63. She can also be reached at dromeyheeter@gmail.com.

This article first appeared on InDepthNH.org and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.