When Murphy followed me, I snapped. “A vacuum cleaner? Seriously? You wrapped up something you wanted and called it my Christmas gift?”
“What’s the big deal?” he asked, confused. “It’s practical. You’re overreacting.”
“Practical?” I shot back. “I’d rather have a $5 bracelet showing you actually thought about me—not just about the one who cleans up after everyone!”
Murphy stormed out, calling me “ungrateful.” But as I lay on the couch that night, a plan formed in my mind. If Murphy thought practical gifts were fine for Christmas, I’d show him exactly what that meant.
Over the next year, I quietly set aside bits of my tutoring money. When the next Christmas rolled around, I went all out. I invited every relative we could fit into the house, ensuring plenty of witnesses.
Under the tree sat Murphy’s gift: an even larger box than the year before, wrapped in premium glittery paper.
“What’s this?” Murphy asked, excited again.
“Just something special,” I said sweetly. “I wanted to show you how much I appreciate all you do for our family.”
On Christmas Eve, surrounded by family, Murphy eagerly tore open the wrapping. His expression shifted from curiosity to confusion—and then horror.
Inside was a case of industrial-sized four-ply toilet paper. “Perfect for the house and the garage!” I chirped. “You said Christmas gifts should be practical, right?”
Laughter erupted from the room. Mia and Emma recorded the whole scene, while Uncle Bill nearly fell out of his chair. Even Murphy’s mom, Eleanor, couldn’t hide her grin.
Murphy’s face turned bright red. “Toilet paper? Are you serious?”
“As serious as you were about that vacuum cleaner,” I said with a sweet smile.
That was five years ago. Murphy hasn’t mentioned Christmas gifts since, but he learned an important lesson: thoughtful gifts matter. Our family still laughs about the Great Toilet Paper Christmas, and I keep a stash of wrapping paper handy—just in case he forgets.
Sometimes, the best revenge isn’t just sweet—it’s practical.