Every Christmastime for a decade, we’ve hosted a tacky regift party. The usual suspects show up, with the only requirement that they wrap and bring the tackiest thing they can find in their home. After we eat, and drink, we do a Yankee Swap.
Over the years, the offerings have included some memorable crockery, a wire head scratcher, a wine bra (don’t ask), a chia pet jar -- and loads of laughs.
But this year, I got serious. Motivated by all the stuff in my house, I’ve been on a crusade to throw away or give away something every day. The local library and Goodwill have gotten books and clothes, and a couple of months ago, I started putting other “miscellaneous items” in a corner of the living room.
I call it my Little Shop of Horrors and implore unsuspecting souls who enter our house not to leave without taking at least one thing with them. I always begin the same way: “I apologize if you gave me anything in here.”
The Little Shop expanded from a few vases, water bottles, and baskets to include unopened packs of invitations, opened packs of invitations, makeup bags and key chains, an old chenille bedspread only slightly ripped, a book of “10,000 Jokes, Toasts and Stories,” plastic fish-shaped dishes, tacky jewelry, a 2002 Emeril Lagasse journal, and a sushi rolling mat -- still in its wrapper -- given by a friend who actually thought I’d make my own sushi.
After the Little Shop’s grand opening, a young friend with aches and pains scooped up a neck massager one of my kids had given me years ago. Nearby was a pack of “extreme protection” ear plugs that nonetheless failed to muffle my husband’s snoring. My niece and her husband, who foster rescue pups, took the rest.
To my delight/relief, my niece also took a scarf I recently bought, along with two other scarves, for friends. The first two I indeed gave away, but when I went to wrap the third one, I saw that it was slightly frayed. Into the Shop it went.
My niece declared it “hipster distressed,” and wrapped it around her neck. She looked great.
My husband thinks the Little Shop is ridiculous because who wants other people’s stuff? But he appreciates the sentiment behind it: getting rid of it. “But you need to market this stuff better,” he said, though he didn’t use the word “stuff.”
That reminded me of my favorite sign I once saw outside a store in Houston: “We Buy Junk and Sell Antiques.”
Taking my husband’s advice, I put a string of pretty holiday lights around the perimeter of stuff -- only to watch as a friend grabbed the lights first.
The art of regifting reaches deep into my family tree. My great-aunt Eve and her upstairs neighbor Miss Byrd would pass a fruitcake back and forth, up and down the stairs of their apartment building in Old Salem, N.C. Sweet, elderly Southern ladies, they each insisted that the other one deserved it. It was a war that went on for months, until the fruitcake was cement. I’m not sure who ended up with it.
My mother, a Depression kid, never bought anything new, be it a car or a dress. Her clothes came from the thrift shop, and if someone complimented her, she’d reply: “I got it for a dollar at the Re-Tog shop.” That was decades before vintage clothing became hip.
For years, she and her sister -- like their Aunt Eve before them -- engaged in their own regifting battle. It started when my aunt sent my brother a Hardy Boys book for his birthday, which he loved. When my cousin’s birthday came around, my mother wrapped up the same book and gave it (back) to him. This went on for several birthdays, and became the stuff of family legend, though neither sister ever ‘fessed up.
This year, I told guests not to bring any gift to the tacky party. But they each had to leave with at least one item from my Little Shop. My husband the marketing genius lent further strategy: “We have to get them likkered up.”
After a glass or three of wine, one friend took a box load of stuff, which included that chenille bedspread. My neighbor swore he’d take my card game “Vino!” I later found it hidden on top of the piano.
But I know where he lives.
Despite my motto “Everything Must Go,” everything did not. So I’ve taken to exporting it. At a couple of recent get-togethers with friends, I’ve managed to palm off a 2004 Red Sox World Series Christmas ornament, a plastic bug in a pretty box, and a bow-tie necklace, which looks great on my friend Bonnie.
Over a recent lunch, Linda was thrilled with a journal that had been regifted to me from my friend Denise years ago (which I know because there was an entry or two in Denise’s handwriting).
The Little Shop still has a few offerings, notably vases and water bottles and those plastic fish plates. They might end up in the recycle, having outlived their usefulness.
So please remember in this holiday season filled with more stuff than most of us want or need: It is more blessed to regift than to receive.
Bella English writes from Milton. She can be reached at english@globe.com.