Another Christmas story

I don't remember when it started, but I became an expert at opening and rewrapping presents. It was always a very handy skill to have since there's that split second when I can't conceal the shock on my face. People now know I do it, and it's so tiresome when they try to extract a promise from me that I won't. The lengths they go to prevent it are pretty pathetic. I still do it.

I must have been 14, and I knew what was coming since I had done my snooping routine. Between seeing it originally and Christmas morning, I had prayed that it wouldn't fit, or maybe it would miraculously change into another gift. Something. But there it was in all its glory on Christmas morning. An orange, and I mean orange, like orange orange, pleather jacket. There was never a question of saying I didn't like something and hurting my mother's feelings. We had just moved to a new town, and I was in a new school, but I wore it to school every day, totally humiliated. Believe me, no one had one like it.