I hate getting books for Christmas in general because I’m such a mood reader, and I’ve plastered a fake smile on my face many a time and repeated internally ‘Its the thought that counts.’ as I unwrap a book I will not read.
But the worst one by far, given to me by my own Mother , who I know loves me, when I was fourteen years old! was >!Men are from Mars Women are from Venus.!< I am sitting there horrified thinking what is she trying to tell me? As my sisters are flat on the floor laughing to the point of puking. We eventually came to the conclusion she just saw an attractive cover on a bestseller table and grabbed it. Love to know your terrible gift stories.
I can remember two book gifts from a cousin when I was a kid. One year, she gave me a set of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books (the only two books not included were Farmer Boy and The First Four Years). I’d never heard of the books or the author (this was long before the TV show–I’m old enough to remember Michael Landon on Bonanza), but they were pretty good–still have them, actually. A few years later, she gave me a copy of Gone With The Wind. I’ve never been a fan of romance novels and my taste in historical novels generally runs toward mysteries…not to mention that by the time she gave me that book (in my early teens, I think), I’d already formed the opinion that Scarlett O’Hara was a stuck up spoiled little brat and somebody should have told her to grow up.