Twinkle: Extravagant Legacy

It's my opinion that there's joy in giving, especially when you know that the gift itself goes against everything your MIL holds to be true and dear. I had to call Lola this morning, to share a bit of delicious, in-your-face, MIL rabble rousing, all over a gift for the little bat mitzvah girl, or, as I like to call her, "She of the Cheap Jar of Daisies." She would have been "She of the Blue Hydrangeas in Crystal Vases," except my MIL put the kabash on that nonsense.

So, a few weeks ago, there was talk between Mr. Twinkle and his sister about what to get her and going in on a present and whatnot, and y'all know it's my philosophy that you can never go wrong with jewelry. So it was agreed that I'd go to a local jeweler and check out the selection of bejeweled Judaica. I didn't really see anything of interest in the Star of David department (which, y'all can imagine, did not comprise a large section of the merchandise), so I moved on to greener pastures. I thought a nice, classic strand of pearls would be appropriate for a girl entering her teen years and it would be something that she could wear as an adult, too. Really, what could be better? Everyone needs pearls, and this branch of the family tree is particularly unfabulous...but She of the Cheap Jar of Daisies is different. I have hope for her. I think it's her girlish sense of playfulness, which hasn't yet been stamped out by the inevitable practicality and dourness created by the overwhelming sense of obligation that steers every aspect of their lives.

So I went today to pick up the pearls, which are the perfect size for a girl of 13 but will serve her well in the future, too. And when I saw them sitting in their lovely jewelry-store box, I remembered the whole flower conversation and how "a little girl doesn't need anything too extravagant," and I was overwhelmed with a delicious sense of joy--not just with the joy of giving something beautiful, or the joy of knowing it'll stick in my MIL's craw, but the joy that maybe I'm planting a seed in She of the Cheap Jar of Daisies. I am certain no one has ever trusted her with a nice piece of jewelry before (and, honestly, she probably won't be trusted with it now, which I think is a mistake, but that's none of my business). This gift says, "I think you're fabulous, and worthy of something special, and you deserve to own a thing of beauty."

We passed around the pearls over lunch (at this horrible O'Charley's, before which I'm proud to say Mr. Twinkle balked and said, "Why aren't we going somewhere local?") and MIL said they were "very nice," but I could tell by her tight-lipped expression that she disapproved. But She of the Cheap Jar of Daisies has lots of women around her disapproving, and judging, and steering her on the way of dour responsibility. I'm the lone dissenting voice that tells her it's OK to be frivolous, and the fact that I chose the gift that represents two of this family's fine, grown-up, practical households--and it's a gift that's so very me--makes me feel like maybe I can leave an impression on this family, instead of being swallowed whole by its expectations and demands. It's a delicious thought.

I'm off to wrap the gift in a profusion of ribbons and tulle, because that's how I roll.