As you might guess, I’m a folder not a crusher. I’ve been delicately sliding gifts out of their festive dress and folding the useable remains for so many years, it’s instinctive.
The bows go in a bag to be reused. Paper gets folded and smoothed, destined to wrap increasingly smaller packages in future years. Gift bags are handled respectfully. Without telltale writing they can soldier on for years. Same for a few sturdy gift boxes, courtesy of a friend who used to send Harry and David. Those come out every year. And we remember our departed friend fondly.
At one time, all this anal retentive fussing made me seem like a nut, a wrapping-paper-saver hoarder, ready for a profile on that reality show about people who stash stuff away until they can’t walk in their house.