Years ago when I was about 8,we where in the village my mother grew up in
I spotted an ornament in the window of a shop (a squirrel sat on a tree) and fell in love with it as a birthday present for my narc mother (I'm the scapegoat but didn't know it at the time)
It was £8 and I got £1 a week as pocket money,so I saved those pound coins for what felt like forever until I'd saved enough
I walked the 3 miles there and the 3 miles back to buy it for her,wrapped it up and proudly gave it to her
She went purple with rage,ranting that it 'was the worst thing I've ever seen',threw it in the bin and told everyone as an amusing story about what shit taste I have
Ditto just about every single present I bought her over the years,but when golden child brother bought her a set of car sponges,a bottle of furniture polish and a Henry hoover (complete with a note 'now its about time you did some housework'),they where the best presents ever
That bloody ornament seems to be in every single charity shop I step into-it is crap but not really the point