You are the weakest link - goodbye

Grace Priddy
Not just another priddy face

It's December, and you know what that means. If you haven't finished your Valentine's Day shopping yet, you ARE the weakest link.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out how Christmas is going to happen. Trees are up, lights are twinkling and my pocketbook is accumulating cobwebs.

College is perhaps the most unique phase of all the aging process. I am considered an adult. I can apply for credit cards and consume alcohol and rent steam-cleaning equipment. Yet somehow, for one month a year, I can bask in the glory of complete and utter irresponsibility ˜ it's still acceptable for me to be totally broke at Christmas, sort of like a free pass.

I know no one expects me to bring home Faberge eggs and 14-karat tie tacks in my Santa sack this year ˜ I'm still (just barely) the age of the traditional student. Yet somehow, after years of squeaking by on homemade gifts and Christmas cards created on Microsoft Office, I'm wondering how long I can keep up this charade. And then there's graduate school. How does that work? Can I still get away with this? I start to wonder if when I'm in my 40s and still working on a master's degree, will my loved ones plan an intervention?

"Gracey, it's time to bite the bullet. The first 20 years of college, we let you off easy, but we're honestly sick of those egg-carton Santas you keep making for us each year. It's time to go shopping."

I've figured out why I dread Christmas shopping so much. It's not so hard to budget gifts for family and friends. I can make that work, to the penny. But then when I get to the mall, every Tom, Dick and Harry comes up to me wearing a Santa hat and asks, very politely, if I would please make a donation to help those in the community who can't afford Christmas.

Suddenly, I am one of those people ˜ because I can't say no. And I can't even say, "Thank you, I already made my donation yesterday."

I don't know what I think is going to happen if I turn one of them down. I imagine finding my truck in the parking lot covered with toilet paper and eggs. "Turn down Santa again, you heartless viper," it says in smeary eggnog across my windshield.

I realize that's probably not going to happen, but I'm still afraid to say no. I know everyone around me will roll their eyes and glare at the snobby ingrate who wants to ruin Christmas for all the little kiddies. I'm not the one ripping teddy bears out of the little tykes' hands. I'm just trying to make ends meet! Nonetheless, by the time I actually get into the store, I don't have any money left for presents.

I went to the grocery store yesterday. The Salvation Army bell-ringer met me at the door, and I handed him a dollar. I went inside and bought a carton of milk. While paying the cashier, I glanced outside and noticed a new ringer in his place.

"Way to go, Grace," I thought. "Of course you'd have to get here right at shift change." I just spent my last money on that blasted milk, and now I have to look this new lady in the face and say no. I feel like I'm rejecting them personally: "Yeah, that's a decent cause, but really ˜ I just don't like your style."

I finally wound up sneaking out the other entrance so no one would see me and walking the entire perimeter of the blacktop back to my parking space.

This has to stop.

So I think, what we need, ladies and gentlemen, is a button system. If you're a poor college kid, you get a big red button to wear outside your clothes. Fund-raisers will spot it and leave you alone. And no one will have to watch you walk to your car to see if you climb into a Lexus you paid cash for, you selfish kid.

In the meantime, I'll have to stick with the good old stand-by:

"Would you like to make a donation to help needy children today?"

"Sorry, lady. I am the weakest link. Goodbye."

Not just another priddy face appears every Wednesday. Grace is a senior in architecture. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the Daily Egyptian.

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