Boy, are you in for a treat.

What’s with the frown? Give me a chance before you groan in disappointment. Today is the day you receive me, Gift Basket, as a gift from a loved one who, last minute, remembered they were obligated to send you something. Perhaps you are hard to shop for or maybe one time, long ago, you expressed an interest in pepper & onion relish. Whatever brought me to you I am grateful.

Just think, someone close to you took the easy way out and gifted you small quantities of randomly selected unappealing snacks.

Speaking of snacks, check out those pears wrapped in gold leaf. Oh, gold leaf! So fancy. I bet you never had fruit displayed in such an ornate and useless way! How about a huge block of cheddar cheese and some pinwheel wheat bites? What are pinwheel wheat bites, you ask? I have no idea. It’s all part of the GB experience.

So, go ahead and take a bite. Allow that dusty, nondescript taste to wash over your taste buds.

Just as you finish you’ll see the blueberry, cayenne jam. “That’s a weird combo!” you’ll think. Stop judging me! You're a weird combo!

I'm sorry, I'm incredibly sensitive. I know I must confuse you with delicacies that make you wonder, “Is this supposed to taste like an old, wet moccasin?”

Speaking of confusion: everything is a tad sticky. Don't panic, it's tape! Being a Gift Basket, I am famous for using reams of scotch tape to connect all my vittles. I do this so that as I am presented to you, you can think, “How the fuck did they get jalapeno popcorn to balance on top of raspberry galettes?” The answer is lots of tape and, of course, super glue. This glue will never be able to be removed. The glue is part of the gift, why would you reject part of me? Don’t you like me?

Speaking of removing, please put all my contents away before a couple of them expire! Which ones expire? I don’t know, but it will happen fast! Why are you waiting? Are you exhausted by the thought of finding a home in the fridge for mustard sausage and stone-ground mustard sausage? I promise it’ll be worth it!

I know, it’s a bit of a chore but buck up, your relative or friend spent 14 seconds picking me out especially for you.

Speaking of seconds, I need an hour or two. The holidays are a very busy time. Why wouldn’t you want to spend 90 minutes finding space in your cupboards for garlic walnuts and chocolate-covered tortilla chips? Honestly, I don’t know why I was even sent to you, of all people! Why am I spending my precious time convincing you of my magnificence? I’m amazing! Someone is clearly projecting their self-hatred onto an innocent, 72-pound wicker basket.

Ugh, apologies. I get cranky during the holidays.

Speaking of weight, I’m pretty darn heavy, right? In order to be a Gift Basket, my contents must be equal in weight to a large rock or a small Toyota. Oh sure, there are small GBs, but they’re amateurs. If you receive one, you should be deeply offended. Your friend didn’t love you enough to splurge the extra $14.75 to get you the wasabi crusted prunes and dried paprika apple slices!

You will dead-lift me off your porch, scream in agony and aggravate your lower back. Just use your legs! Squats are good for you! Come on, man.

Speaking of screaming, why aren’t you more excited to see me? Here I am: a useless assortment of small edibles (not the good kind), that you never wanted, wrapped in enough cellophane to circle the earth three times and you can’t even send some love my way. What kind of monster are you? I’ll tell you what kind of monster, a monster capable of throwing out seasonal nuts, mixed olives, and zesty Meyer-lemon wafer twists.


I've had it! The damage is done and you are to blame. I hope you can live with yourself. You don’t deserve me and my extravagant bounty. You will find remnants of me for years to come and think, “Who the fuck bought dried beets in caramel sauce?” and then you’ll clutch your back as the memory comes into view.

“Oh yeah, cousin Rita. She sent that fucking gift basket. I fucking hate cousin Rita.”