Yes, I DID Just Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth

Ellen's Twelve Days of Christmas is bringing a daily tear to my eye ... along with my traditional bitterness for audience giveaways.

Not really a Bah humbug ... just a sad, sad lament to what could've been ....

And of course, my disclaimer:  I want to make sure everyone knows that I harbor no ill will towards talk show hosts of any kind and would be very, very willing to accept any freebies at any time in any studio audience......

But yes, I do become a little cranky this time of year it's not really not all my fault.

May Julie Andrews forgive me but I am about to stomp on the blissful vision of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.  It being the season of giving I will give up a shocking holiday admission – and it’s not exactly a truth I would want, say, a major television talk show host to catch wind of.  I’m certainly not proud of it.  And I wish it just wasn’t so. But I’m pretty sure I can’t possibly be alone in my thoughts (or rather, no other person would dare say it out loud).  So here goes:

I cannot stand all the faboosh giveaways all those lucky studio audience members get around this time of year.  (Ho-ho-ho-No!-she-dit-in-just-say-that!) Oprah’s Favorite Things…..Ellen’s Twelve Days of Christmas….come on, already…..enough.  Sure, I watch these festive episodes with swollen eyes welled up with tears of joy at these strangers’ unbelievable stroke of good luck but (sigh…..) I just can’t help it:  I am insanely jealous.  And I want to scream.  And (insert shameful whisper) sometimes I do (at the TV).

This week alone I’ve watched hundreds of people go home with plasma flat screens, i-Touch phones, blue-ray disc players and hundreds of dollars in gift cards for various trendy stores.  There were spa treatments and Snugglies and Wiis and good grief, there I sat folding laundry.  Peeved.   Totally and completely annoyed.

It’s not that I’m not thrilled for the audience.  Cross my heart, I really, really am.  I just have well, residual bitterness from a festering talk show experience I like to call, well, the one that blew chow.  Move over, Ebenezer -- during the holiday season I am forever haunted by the Ghost of Giveaways Past.

Allow me to explain.

Back in the day, before she became a vocal hater of all things Donald Trump and The View, I went to see “The Rosie O’Donnell Show.”  Ah, Rosie. Wasn’t she something?  Perched at the top of the Nielsens, she was the reigning Queen of Nice. Once my tickets arrived rumors started swirling that her great friend Madonna was due to appear any minute.  To boot, she joyously left HoHos and milk on every seat in the studio. I was aptly crawling out of my skin with excitement in more ways than imaginable:  a week earlier she had begun her Alphabet Countdown Giveaway; I had watched on pins and needles as audience members walked away with fantastical prizes from Apple computers, Banana Republic, Cuisinart….you get the picture.  

I had the unbelievable good fortune to be sitting in the audience on “G” day and my imagination was filled with images ranging from Godiva to GE to Gloria Estefan (whatever…it was the mid-90s).  Moments before the big reveal my head was spinning --  I didn’t even care that I’d worked a double the night before…I didn’t care that I had gotten up after a few hours sleep to take an ungodly early morning train to be on line by 7 a.m…I didn’t care that I had a little bit of baby formula still visible on my shoulder…..it didn’t matter.  I was ready.  When the ginormous and shiny display was wheeled to center stage the crowd went into a frenzy.

The mountainous wrapping paper was ripped off.  And they proceeded to pass out anniversary editions of a G.I Joe doll to each and every one of us.

Seriously.

A G.I. Joe doll.  For real. That, with empty wrapping from a pack of HoHos and a train ticket stub, was the extent of my holiday talk show memorabilia.

For a wee bit o’ salt in the wounds, Rosie then made the official announcement that her great friend, Madonna, was going to be on the show. Tomorrow.

For some tasty icing on my cake of utter disappointment, there were no hot celebrities on the show at all that day and there was nary a musical guest either (just the now-infamous cop who directs traffic with dances and Mickey Mouse gloves). We got filler:  an hour of no-name guests and a toy doll that wouldn’t again become popular for another fifteen years or so.

Ah, Rosie.

So my friends, it is with great humility that I must admit I have enjoyed every tabloid moment of Ms. O’Donnell’s subsequent fall from grace. Karma indeed.

It’s been a long time since I sat in that studio audience and truth be told, my life’s good fortunes have been plentiful in innumerable other ways.  Still, it’s a sour taste that rises to my throat each holiday season no matter how many candy canes I try to suck the stripes off of.

Might I harbor an unhealthy resentment?  You bet.  Would I become a permanent fixture in Ellen’s audience if I lived out on the West Coast?

Please.  Let’s just say it’s a good thing I don’t. Maybe one day, though.  Those people in her audience are luckeeeeeeeeee…….

www.skirt.com/eyerollingmom     www.twitter.com/eyerollingmom