Some things should never be written.

S ometimes I dick around on Wikipedia because I have some time to kill. A few days ago I was wondering about why Dutch ovens are called Dutch ovens. I assumed it was because the Dutch invented them, or at least had an affinity for them. While reading up on my Dutch oven history, I noticed that a lot of the factual information about Dutch ovens was coming from a book called "Dutch Ovens Chronicled" by John G. Ragsdale. Apparently this gentleman is the leading expert on Dutch oven history. Now, this made a little back corner of my brain spin around in circles really fast. My brain did this because I started to wonder why anyone would bother to learn the history of Dutch ovens, and then write a book about it, and then try to sell it to real people. Then I wondered about what type of people read books about the history of things like Dutch ovens. Then I thought about what type of person would find a book like "Dutch Ovens Chronicled" and give it as a gift. This reminded me of my childhood during Christmas when I watched the adults in my family do a gift exchange.
The family played a type of game where you could either choose a gift to open or sacrifice your turn to open by trading an unopened gift for one that had already been opened. Then the person you got the gift from opens a new one. I think this is called "boring" and "a waste of time" in some cultures. Anyway, someone had a really good idea to wrap up a big coffee table book about warplanes. I think it was my grandpa, because he was the only person into warplanes. Nobody wanted that warplane book. They kept trading it and trading it. It was obvious that grandpa had gotten the gift with the bright idea that he could get something he knew only he wanted. He was therefore usurping the spirit of gift-giving but still playing the game, so he technically couldn't be reprimanded for being a Grinch. The family decided to punish old grandpa for his mischievous ways. No matter how many times grandpa tried to subtly suggest that he would gladly take that dumb old warplane book off anyone's hands, the family would trade around him. The few times he opened an excellent gift, he was given the warplane book only to have it taken away a few rounds later. Grandpa started to become aware that my entire family was actively and strategically fucking with him. His jolly casual suggestions to get the book into his hands slowly became harsh criticisms of the structure of the game. The spirit of Christmas was still in the air so he never attacked a family member who played by the rules and took the book from him, but he began to point out every flaw in the system.
My family was merciless. As the game wound down, it was obvious they weren't letting grandpa off the hook. The aunts, uncles, and older cousins had all played smart and kept the book out of his hands. The family had also played with heart though, because when the last gift was opened my grandpa had a rather nice candle fixture set sitting in his lap, and my grandma was happily clutching an over-sized volume containing detailed illustrations and descriptions of historical warplanes.