My mom always had this weird joke where she would hide the most desired gift of all in the dryer... or in the garage if it was large. I got used to this tradition, waiting until I had gone through everything else, then rushing out to see what was in the dryer. Or sometimes the washer if mom was feeling like playing with my head a little bit.
This one particular holiday, I must have been 15 and all I wanted was a pair of Doc Martens. I basically knew I was getting them since mom had dragged me to Nordstrom to try on a few pairs (because back in the day, they were all euro-sizing and didn't have the US sizes on them). Judging by the way I was grilled and grilled and grilled about which pair I wanted and even sent out of the store for something (hey, go over to the record store!), I could even narrow it down to which ones I was getting. No surprise, but I was still anticipating being able to wear those boots for the first time.
So, all gifts under the tree open. Stockings searched. Now where are my boots? Out to the dryer. And there, in all it's splendid glory: a load of laundry. The washer: empty. The dishwasher: ok, this is getting serious! "Mom, where's the other present?" "You know... the boots?"
Mom insists it's there. We search under the tree, through the discarded wrapping paper, boxes and other shiny holiday debris. No boots. Search closets. All of them. The boots are nowhere.
She's-got-the-receipt. What?
Swears she wrapped them.
Where did they go?
Finally, a resolution. In the dryer. Right where they should have been. Probably hidden in there days ago. Then someone, carelessly, drops a load of wet laundry in to dry.
The wrapping paper and box didn't fare too well. In the end, I got my boots and that's what mattered.
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