Yo, my husband is BAD at giving gifts. BAD. If you’re ever thinking, “Great, another kitchen utensil… just what I wanted,” you need to re-read this post and you’ll feel better about that snazzy new wire whisk.
Gift A
We used to live in an old house with a crumbling foundation. Our first home together was owned by a disbarred judge who no longer lived in it. She came from money, made some more money, married money… she has money. My husband’s first job was working for her and she owns loads of property. When it came time to move in together, he went to her, knowing she had plenty of options in our desired area. We couldn’t afford the options she showed us, so she offered us her own home for what we could afford. It was a huge house for a young couple; over 5000 square feet on seven acres. Our driveway was actually zoned as a street because it was so long. We lived in the woods overgrown so thick, the road wasn’t visible from the house. Super cozy, exposed beams, a few fireplaces, entire house clad in cedar with a shake roof, view of the deer drinking from the pond with our geese nesting on the island… friggin’ cute. Maybe our 2nd Christmas in the house… we’ve been together at least three years at this point… y’all, he was SO PROUD of what he snagged me for Christmas. It was a 3-feet long box that was pretty heavy and rattled. Unless I’m getting a Flava Flav clock necklace, I’m not getting jewelry.
Christmas morning came and I had to rip that sucker open, because I could NOT figure this shit out. IT WAS FIREPLACE TOOLS. No lie, the friggin’ stand with the pokey thing and the shovel for ashes… but no pail for ashes, of course. LIKE BRO, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? We lived in that house maybe one more year, and since then haven’t had a fireplace. So… cool.
Oh thanks, can’t wait to forge you a new knife.
Gift B
After we had been together for five years or so, we were talking about what we wanted in a marriage, a realistic time frame to get married so our families could attend despite a possible out-of-state school scenario, discussing a future together that included grad school, children, how close we wanted to stay to family… you know, real stuff. Enter the Christmas gift one more time. This ding dong tells me, no lie, “I need to give you your present before Christmas so you can show it to our families on Christmas Eve and Christmas.” DUH, everyone knows what that means. Except for hubs. Bro, IT WAS A COAT FROM TJMAXX. Now, bitches love the Maxx. Check my bank statements for proof. But a wool coat is NOT something I need to show to our freaking families.
This is how I looked showing off my coat on Christmas day.
Gift C
This is more recent. We’re now married with a son, and I have zero qualms about sharing how this is NOT his thing.
Oh, wait, I never mentioned how AMAZING I am at giving gifts. It’s not money. Fuck the money. I mean, my shit is so damn meaningful. Like he was always in love with bulldogs, and I had a tiny Italian Greyhound. He eventually fell in love with Schatzi, so I rescued another Italian Greyhound for him for his birthday one year. I gave him a BABY for his 30th birthday. I planned on taking him motorcycle shopping, but had that positive pregnancy test on the morning of his birthday, and allocated that money for hospital bills. Our son is two and that damn bill is still not paid in full. I arrange for experiences and real sneaky-like get in touch with his boss to arrange for him to have the day off of work. I’m good.
Ok, back to the most recent turd gift. Remember when I talked about the drywall anchors in this post, and that I was nervous about him spending time in the garage with his power tools for a Valentine’s Day present? Y’all, I never told you what it was! Now you get to know: a dry erase board. It was a dry erase board for my business. A freaking TAX WRITE-OFF is not my idea of romance. I have no clue why he was in the garage, why power tools were necessary, why it took several hours… And you know what? He even asked, because he knows he’s terrible, “This is a good gift, right?” He seriously thought he finally got it right. I had to pretend. I told him it was good. Oh, this poor guy. He really means well.
Except mine was tiny and only had one marker.
I don’t wanna hear it.
The next time you complain to me that you got the wrong color stone in your necklace, I’m gonna shake you. I’m gonna yank that necklace off your body, slap an ash shovel in your hands, and call us even.