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.
My grandparents knew I loved books, and knew I loved cats. What did they get me? Cat books, of course.
Short story compilations about cats.
Memoirs about life with cats.
Books of cat poems.
Coffee table books with cats in art.
The thought was nice, but none of them were ever any good.
Terry Pratchett wrote a cat book. That might be good.