Always be prepared if someone asks you what you want for

Host: The city was strung with Christmas lights, each one trembling against the cold like laughter trapped in glass. The streets were wet with melted snow, reflections of neon and red taillights weaving through the dark like spilled color. Inside a small record store café, jazz played faintly over the hum of conversation and espresso machines. It was warm here — warm in that imperfect, human way that coffee shops are in December.

Jack sat at a table near the window, flipping absently through a vinyl sleeve while sipping black coffee that had long gone cold. Jeeny sat across from him, a faint smile curling her lips as she unwrapped a peppermint candy and dropped it into her cup.

A stack of wrapped gifts sat beside her chair — small, tidy, obviously chosen with care.

Jeeny: (grinning) “John Waters once said — ‘Always be prepared if someone asks you what you want for Christmas. Give brand names, the store that sells the merchandise, and, if possible, exact model numbers so they can't go wrong. Be the type who's impossible to buy for, so they have to get what you want.’”

Jack: (laughing) “Ah, the patron saint of divine selfishness.”

Jeeny: “You call it selfishness. I call it honesty.”

Jack: “You would. You probably send out a PowerPoint deck of your Christmas wishes every year.”

Jeeny: (mock offense) “Not true. I use a spreadsheet.”

Host: The lights flickered against the window glass, turning the rain into a galaxy of reflected color. A man in a Santa suit stumbled past outside, carrying a paper bag that looked more bourbon than benevolence.

Jack: “I’ll give Waters this — at least he’s not pretending. Most people play that false modesty game: ‘Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything,’ when they’ve been dropping hints for months.”

Jeeny: “Exactly! That’s what he’s saying — stop pretending you don’t want things. Desire isn’t a sin; it’s human.”

Jack: “But turning Christmas into a shopping strategy? That’s peak consumerism. It’s like the holidays turned into a hostage negotiation.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s rebellion against fake sentimentality. He’s mocking the charade — all the forced surprises, the useless gifts, the people who don’t see you enough to know what you actually want. At least his honesty has wit.”

Host: The barista passed by, dropping a cinnamon-scented candle on their table as part of the café’s holiday promotion. It flickered between them, its flame soft but persistent, like the heartbeat of their debate.

Jack: “So, you think being ‘impossible to buy for’ is a form of authenticity?”

Jeeny: “I think it’s a metaphor. Waters isn’t just talking about Christmas gifts. He’s talking about identity. Know yourself so precisely that the world can’t hand you the wrong version.”

Jack: “That’s poetic, but I don’t buy it — literally or figuratively. Life doesn’t hand you perfect fits. You adapt. You compromise.”

Jeeny: “Says the man who buys socks for everyone because it’s ‘safe.’”

Jack: (smirking) “Socks are practical. Everyone needs them. They don’t break, they don’t offend, and they never go out of style.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. They also say nothing. No risk, no personality. Waters would be appalled.”

Host: The wind rattled the windowpane, carrying faint echoes of a street musician playing “Blue Christmas” on a saxophone. The sound was lonely, but it filled the space between their words like an uninvited truth.

Jack: “You know, I think Waters was half joking. He’s always been a performance artist in conversation. The way he talks about taste — it’s like an armor. Being specific becomes a weapon against disappointment.”

Jeeny: “Or against invisibility. When you tell people exactly what you want, you’re saying, ‘I refuse to be misinterpreted.’ That’s power.”

Jack: “Or control.”

Jeeny: “Control can be a kind of freedom. Especially for people who’ve spent their lives being told what they should want.”

Host: Her eyes softened, but her tone carried steel. The candlelight shimmered on her face, revealing that this wasn’t just a debate — it was confession disguised as dialogue.

Jack: “You sound like someone who’s been disappointed too many Christmases in a row.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Maybe. Or maybe I just learned that asking clearly is an act of courage. Most people don’t say what they want — from love, from life, from anyone. Then they call it fate when they don’t get it.”

Jack: “So you think Waters’ philosophy applies to love, too?”

Jeeny: “Doesn’t it? People say they want romance, but what they really want is mind-reading. They expect someone to know them without words. Then they’re hurt when the gifts — or the gestures — don’t match the fantasy.”

Jack: “That’s cynical.”

Jeeny: “That’s human.”

Host: Jack leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing — not in judgment, but in the recognition of truth he’d rather dodge.

Jack: “You might be right. I once bought someone a typewriter because I thought it was symbolic — you know, inspiration, nostalgia. She wanted a blender.”

Jeeny: (laughing) “See? You gave her poetry; she wanted practicality. That’s the universe in miniature.”

Jack: “Or just proof that people are mysteries not meant to be solved by catalog number.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But at least know your own model number before you go shopping for someone else’s heart.”

Host: The candle flickered lower now, its flame soft but stubborn. The snow began again outside — light, persistent, settling gently over the world as though to remind it of tenderness.

Jack: “So you really think it’s noble — being ‘impossible to buy for’?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it means you’ve stopped pretending to be easy.”

Jack: “And that’s a virtue?”

Jeeny: “It’s self-respect.”

Jack: “And what happens when the world gets tired of trying to please someone impossible?”

Jeeny: “Then the wrong world walks away — and the right one figures you out.”

Host: Silence now, except for the faint sound of snow against the window and the sigh of the record player spinning the last track. Jeeny reached across the table, her fingers brushing his hand lightly.

Jeeny: “You see, Jack — Waters wasn’t teaching greed. He was teaching precision. Don’t settle for being mis-seen. Don’t let the world hand you socks when your soul asked for silver shoes.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Silver shoes? You really think anyone gets what they want in the end?”

Jeeny: “Not always. But the ones who ask out loud have a better chance.”

Host: Outside, the world softened into white — snow on the streets, light in the windows, music fading into memory. Inside, two figures lingered over coffee gone cold and a conversation that had turned into something tender — a meditation on want, and worth, and the quiet audacity of knowing yourself.

And as the scene faded to the glow of the last candle, John Waters’ words echoed — irreverent but luminous, like laughter laced with wisdom:

That desire isn’t greed — it’s clarity.
That being “impossible to buy for” means you’ve finally learned who you are.
And that maybe, in a world obsessed with guessing,
the bravest gift you can give is the courage
to say exactly what your heart wants —
brand name, model number, and all.