gift-giving.

I love Christmas time. Especially the gift-giving part. There are few things so satisfying as to watch a loved one animalistically tear wrapping paper from a boxed gift like flesh from a fresh zebra ribcage strewn lifelessly across the yellow grasses of the Serengeti. It’s thrilling. Then comes the wild, toothy grin of ecstatic appreciation and shouts of jubilee: “Oh my gosh! How did you know?” Finally, the giver and receiver embrace, together reveling in the success of an inspired gift.

But as intense an experience as it is to give the perfect gift, it is far more intense—though oppositely so—to give the dramatically errant one. The horribly telling pause. The scrunchy-browed look of miserable contemplation. The contrived assurances and poorly delivered thank-yous. It’s all part and parcel with the Christmas gift belly-flop. Everyone in the room knows the ill-fitting giftiness of a rock garden or wooden spoon set or tie dye t-shirt kit. But no one says a thing. The silence itself conveys the unfortunate message. It’s a situation everyone wants to avoid and that I’ve found myself party to one too many times.

That’s why this year, I’m not trusting my intuitive gift-giving instincts alone. Instead, for the sake of Christmas, I’m investing in roofies—those pills that conveniently provoke unconsciousness and memory loss. Now it is a sad truth that these pills are often used for sinister and deplorable purposes. But that’s not how I operate. I will use roofies only for good. Casually and while sipping a mug filled with eggnog, I’ll chat with one of the members of my family. We’ll laugh and joke together, rehearse memories of Christmases past. And then I’ll ask them point blank what gift would most thoroughly complete their Christmas wishes. Just as they finish divulging the vital information, I’ll slip the roofie in their mug. “Drink up,” I’ll suggest. “It’s not every day that you get to enjoy eggnog without looking like a weirdo.”

Twelve hours later they’ll wake up with no memory of the event and I’ll be on my way home from the mall with the very present that will make them squeal. On Christmas morning, amidst piles of wrapping paper from less inspired gifts, they’ll open mine, look me square in the eyes and elatedly ask, “How did you know?”