Tasha Dhanraj gets it very wrong

I have spent £130 on a present for my cousin’s 18th birthday that she might not even like. I could have used that money to buy her an iPod, a gift card for her favourite shop or even one hundred and thirty things from the McDonald’s Pound Saver Menu. All of those would have been more fail-safe and therefore quite possibly a better use of my money than what I’ve bought her. I have bought her a silver bracelet.

When I was buying it, the exact words of my inner monologue were: “Yeah, I reckon she’ll probably like that.” Then, just to make sure that if she did hate it she wouldn’t be able to return it, I had it engraved with a message that she’ll find either tediously insincere or embarrassingly twee.

I told myself repeatedly that this was a good present. She could own it forever, it would never go out of fashion, and, if she really wanted to, she could just hold onto it for a few years before having it melted down and selling the metal for cash.

A gift shouldn’t be based on longevity or worth. It should be about what they actually want at that time. That’s not what I’ve done. I’ve bought something that she would know is expensive and something that would tell her that a lot of thought had been put into it. But I’ve not thought about her. I’ve thought about me.

“This is probably the least generous gift I’ve ever given”

This is possibly the least generous gift I’ve ever given. I’m not giving her a present. I’ve bought myself a chance to think “Wow, I’m so kind and thoughtful and such a wonderful loving cousin”.
My word, I’m an awful human being. The worst thing is, because it is so obviously expensive, she’s going to have to fake the most over the top “Thank you so much – you’re the best cousin ever” speech that Britain has ever seen. I will then respond with the obligatory “Oh no, really – you deserve it.
I love you so much, I just wanted to give you something that made you know how special you are”. Then we will hug and seal the deal on this despicable lie just so I get to feel better about myself.

Meanwhile, my poor 18-year-old cousin is stuck with a non-returnable bracelet that she hates and has no use for – all the while wondering how her dear cousin got it so wrong. Next year I’m just going to buy her a Big Mac.