I resent Christmas more and more the older I get. It’s a combination of my lack of religion, my extreme laziness, and my crippling anxiety. I stress myself out to the point of hyperventilation over how much money I’m going to spend (how many years can I skate by on homemade gifts before it becomes tacky?), what to get people (is it appropriate to just give someone a Target gift card if you’ve known them for over ten years?), and about how I’m going to get it for them (do I shop online and hope that it ships in time, or do I brave the masses of the screaming kids and sweaty people at the mall?). Once I’ve got the gifts in hand, I look forward to the feeling of sweet, sweet relief that I get when I’ve handed them off, although I really don’t start to feel remotely relaxed until after the new year.

I haven’t always been this bitter and neurotic. There was a time a few years ago when I was dating a boy I really liked and I was actually excited to buy a Christmas present for him. For once, I had a boyfriend who wasn’t a complete shithead, and one that I actually had multiple things in common with, so I had a better idea of what to buy for him. We were both in college at the time, and even though we both had part-time jobs, neither of us was exactly making it rain. Despite this, I saved up a little extra money to get him a nice, thoughtful gift, because I wanted our Christmas to be really special. He was an avid tea drinker, so I got him a fancy tea kettle from Teavana and a canister of some kind of tea that I couldn’t pronounce and that smelled like dirt. I was sure he would love it.

We exchanged gifts when he came to my hometown to stay a couple of days after he was done with his family Christmas. When he opened his present he was, or at least he seemed to be, really impressed with my gift-giving skills. Then it came my turn to open his present for me. Inside the box was a light blue T-shirt that had a white cat face on it and said “Cat Person,” and a couple of movies I’d never seen that we always talked about watching together. But before I go any further, here’s a little backstory on the cat shirt.

He wore that same shirt one day back when we first started dating. I immediately coveted it not only because I am cat person, but because my cat looked just like the one printed on the shirt and I thought that must be fate. (Here’s a picture of my cat for reference, and also just because she’s beautiful).

He told me that a friend of his at school made them, and that he could get one for me. Naturally, I assumed that’s what had happened, so I was very excited—not only because of the shirt, but because we now had matching shirts and I could finally be part of one of those annoying couples that are so in sync that they make everyone around them want to vomit. Or so I thought.

He left to go back and spend time with his parents, so I picked up some shifts at the bank I worked at before I left for college. As I was getting ready for work one morning, I decided to wear the cat shirt so I could show off the sweet gift that my loving boyfriend got for me. As I pulled the shirt out of the box, I noticed that this was not a new cat shirt made just for me. It was his cat shirt, complete with tiny holes and yellow pit stains. PIT. STAINS. I was livid.

I fumed about it all day at work and eventually went from outraged to hurt. I spent like fifty dollars on his gift, never mind all the thought that went into it, and he gave me an old shirt and some movies from the five dollar bin at Walmart? Was that really what he thought of me? Before you start judging me as a spoiled bitch, let me say that it didn’t take very long for me to realize that these gifts were not brought on by a lack of love, but rather a lack of money. Once the guilt set in, I knew I had to talk to him about it.

We had the uncomfortable talk. I explained to him that I didn’t care that he didn’t have any money, because I was barely scraping by too. I was more hurt that he thought he could pass off a noticeably worn T-shirt to me without me noticing, and that he felt like he couldn’t talk to me about his financial situation. I made him promise that if this was ever an issue at holidays later on that we would find a way around it, like setting spending limits or planning an outing together that wouldn’t cost much. I just wanted to be with him without the extra pressure from this capitalist holiday. It didn’t really matter, though, because he broke up with me a few months later. I ended up giving the cat shirt back to him, a decision I still kind of regret. It was a really cute shirt, even with the pit stains.

-Meredith Galyon