I hate gift exchanges. I hate the mystrey, I hate having to buy something for someone you barely know, I hate recieving that gift you never wanted and having to pretend like its the golden earings or bubble bath you hoped and dreamed of. And I hate the one gift exchange that made me hate all the rest.
             It was third grade. I was a cute kid, but kind of a loner. My long tangled hair would fall over my puggey cheeks as I read a book or it would fly around helplessly as I sat in one corner of the playground with my best friend making rings out of long, dead peices of grass. Life was good, not wonderful, but good.
             As Christmas approached Mrs. Olsen gave a slightly less than enthusiastic anouncment. With her ever constant scowl she told us we would be having a Christmas party and gift exchange. I was thrilled. I had never done a gift exchange before!
             That night I hurried home, grabbed my mom, and headed to the store. As I picked out a beautiful art set for my secret santa mom just looked at me like a cat at her newborn kittens and smiled, taking me to the check out to buy it.
             A week passed and the time for the party arrived. I eagerly scurried in from recess, placed my present under the tree with the rest, and jumped into my seat waiting eagerly for my present.
             As they were handed out and opened I smiled with glee as kids were getting plastic hockey sticks and pucks, makeup kits, playdo, and all sorts of wonderful things. I leaned forward listening closly for my name. "Amanda," came the impatient call I had been waiting for. I ran forward, snached my gift, and tore the wrapping to confetti shreds.
             My mind went blank, what was this? All the other kids had gotten such cool stuff. I stared down incredulously at my gift. It was a set of pensils. Sports pensils round and unsharpened, the kind of thing you got for 50 cents at the grocery store. I went back to my seat without saying anything, silent tears of broke...