WRAPPING THOSE BEAUTIES
Of all the people in this world I envy (and there must be three), people who wrap spiffy packages are God’s gift to Hudson’s and I wish I could be like them. My packages come out looking like a shirt somebody stomped on. I have a hard enough time with shoelaces (the Free Press hires the handicapped), much less itsy-bitsy ribbons on Christmas packages.
WRAPPING THOSE BEAUTIES
Bob Talbert
Of all the people in this world I envy (and there must be three), people who wrap spiffy packages are God’s gift to Hudson’s and I wish I could be like them.
My packages come out looking like a shirt somebody stomped on. I have a hard enough time with shoelaces (the Free Press hires the handicapped), much less itsy-bitsy ribbons on Christmas packages. I can tie the best knot you ever saw, though.
I can also wrap the crookedest packages. The paper never comes out right. I either have too much or too little, and I don’t know what’s worse, having to scrunch up the ends or patch an extra hunk of wrapping across the gaping hole in the middle.
For some reason, I buy Christmas presents that defy wrapping. They have these strange angles shooting out here and monstrous hollows yanking away there. And they never come in boxes, which forces you to overdress your find in'a Saks box or insult it in something from K-Mart. How things like that ever got shipped to the store I’ll never know.