So the morning after Christmas is called Boxing Day in the United Kingdom, because traditionally those who were wealthy would box up things they no longer wanted and give them to their household servants, or to “the poor.”

In Walmart, Dec. 26 is called Boxing Day because of what’s happening in the Christmas clearance aisle.

I went to get cat food for Molly and O’Carolan, and coffee creamer for myself. At 6:30 am I figured the place might not yet be crowded, so what the heck, why not stroll past clearance because it’s fun to find ornaments one can enhance with crochet or decoupage and give next year. Like I did these polar bears.

The three aisles held a dozen women each, and they were not eyeing one another in a friendly way, nor yielding prime real estate with their carts parked in front of their targets. I left my cart at the top and started to walk in, but a woman’s eyes became daggers as she glared at me.

Competition, her face said.

Okay…. you know what, let’s just back away slowly. Who needs another ornament to crochet?

I don’t use wrapping paper, but passed that aisle heading back to my cart. The occupants were engaged in a free-for-all fencing duel. The women were being Southern Polite, which means they figured all actions were justified because they were taking good care of their families by saving money for next year. (Think the milk aisle after a snow forecast.) Ergo it was fair to swing for eyeglasses and hearing aids with the paper tubes.

From a safe distance, I watched. And wondered. Sure, I’d been cheerful about taking a look, but I can crochet an ornament as easily as crochet around a commercially produced ornament, to be honest. It just takes longer.

Those women in the aisle, did they believe they were getting ahead in life, sticking it to the man, spending time wisely by saving money? By spending money? Economics lessons, business classes, and social justice Ted talks on marketing strategies flowed through my brain, not sticking to one theme, more jumbled up like competing Christmas bells in discordance. Was this aisle in this moment what most smart shoppers came down to being? Not eschewing the stuff, but looking for the stuff on sale? Were these women gaming the system, playing the game, or pawns moved by unseen hands across a retail chessboard?

It’s not my intention to sound smug or condescending. We need what we need, we want what we want. Grandkids are born expecting things. Which perhaps proves the point that underneath our choices on how to spend Boxing Day, as Anthropology 101 teaches us, we are making less choices of our own free will than we think we are, because we start with the suppositions society has programmed into us from infancy.

Wrapping paper is life. Wrapping paper is love. Wrapping paper on sale is the ultimate good. According to the Laws of…. who?

I got my cat food and creamer and went home and sat in front of the fire, crocheting a possum scarf while blasting Mannheim Steamroller. Somebody had ordered the scarf from me, so yes, I am a comfortable capitalist—especially when sitting at home in front of my wood stove.

Choose wisely, friends.