John's stocking is plain green velvet; cheap, mass-market. Unrecognizable, until you consider that he would never spend time or money to find himself a better one. Of course he wouldn't. John.
Filling it up is also straightforward, if you know him. John loves curry cashews, and posh cream-filled chocolates; all manner of expensive little treats he would never buy for himself.
The difficult thing is knowing whether to hang it at all, when he may never see it, on the mantelpiece of a home he no longer claims.
Mary sighs, and once again lays the stocking back in its box.