You'll shoot your eye out

You know that section in the men's department at Macy's that has, like, tie racks, "executive" poker sets, and inflatable sports-themed furniture -- basically all that crap that says "I have no idea who you are or what you like, but I drew your name in the office Secret Santa pool, so here ya go, you can at least tell I spent the required 20 bucks"? Well, that got me thinking about the whole Secret Santa thing, my main experience of which was at the nanny agency where I worked when I first moved to Galivornia. 

One of the perils of working in an all-female office -- which I will never do again, so help me Shatner -- is that "Secret Santa" in that type of environment is code for "Festival of Olympic-Level Passive-Agressive Bullshit." This particular gynocracy had a very highly codified Secret Santa tradition. There were six of us in the San Francheesy branch, so there was no sliding, no halfassery -- you had to do it right, goddammit, or somebody was gonna be pissing in your lattes for MONTHS. I mean, seriously, if office policy* is that you have to sign emails to each other "LYLAS," you know you're in for some finely-tuned insanity. 

But so anyway, it went on for a week, and there were specific things you had to do over that week. It went something like this -- and keep in mind, the three of us at my level were pulling down a sweet 27 G's a year: 

--Monday: A homemade food gift (e.g. cookies).  Unspoken Rule: Home. Made, bitch, and don't be frontin with something from Whole Foods.

--Tuesday: A small item for the home (e.g. candle, little mirror, set of port glasses). Unspoken Rule: Minimum level = Pottery Barn.

--Wednesday: Reading material. Unspoken Rule: If Oprah likes it, we fucking LOVE it. And it better be so new it still has the no-go inside it.

--Thursday: Kristmas Keepsake. Unspoken Rule: Any ornaments must match receiver's xmas decor; no Hallmark items; minimum gift value = $25.

--Friday: A Real gift, which proves how you know the receiver like a sister (she's a pal and a confidante, after all, and if she threw a party, and invited everyone she knew, she would see the biggest gift would be from you, and the card attached would say, "You are an amaaazing woman!!!"). Unspoken Rule: A gift card, even one to Sephora or a day spa, will mean that at least until July, every one of your sushi orders will be "accidentally" fucked up, every conversation will stop when you walk into the room, and every tittery little gigglefest in the galley kitchen will be aimed your way. Yay sisterhood! 

*I am only joking about the LYLAS business. We were a micron away from that. But JUST a micron.