When I was in prep school, I went to spend Christmas with my friend Greg Perks and his family at his grandparents' house in Plettenberg Bay. It was a classic, sun-drenched coastal Christmas, and we all gathered in the living room for the sacred ritual of opening presents and cards.
The atmosphere was festive until Greg opened the card from his Gran.
He pulled it out, read the message, and his face immediately fell into a mask of pure confusion and mild disappointment. He looked at the empty envelope, then back at the card, and then at his mother, Barbara.
Barbara, meanwhile, was having an identical experience. She stared at her own card with a furrowed brow, looking increasingly concerned.
The message inside every single card, written in Gran’s elegant hand, was the same: "Buy yourself a present this year."
After the gift-opening ended, Barbara pulled Gran aside for a "little word," her voice laced with genuine worry.
"Mum," she whispered, "is everything okay? What did you mean by what you wrote in the cards? Are you... financially strapped? Do we need to help?"
Gran looked at her with total bewilderment. "Financially strapped? Heavens, no! Why on earth would you think that?"
"Well," Barbara replied, "you told everyone to buy themselves a present."
Gran’s eyes went wide as the realization hit her. "Oh my goodness!" she cried. "I’ve just been so busy! I sat down and wrote out cheques for every single one of you, and I fully intended to include them. But I’ve just realized... I forgot to actually put the cheques in the cards!"
Sure enough, a quick trip to her cupboard revealed the missing small fortune, neatly signed and waiting for a home.
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