August 13, 2012 by Kat Richter
I’ve just stepped out of the shower when The Wedding Date and his youngest arrive for the start of my birthday festivities. When I come downstairs, I see not one, not two, but four presents carefully piled next to the dining room table.
The first turns out to be a bright pink beach chair. Having never spent much time at the beach, I’ve never bothered to purchase proper seating but the last time I went to the beach with The Wedding Date, I commandeered his chair and spent the entire ride home wondering aloud if it was late enough in the season to acquire a half-priced beach chair.
No wonder he was so unsupportive of this notion.
Next he presents me with a collection of short stories, then his youngest hands me a box.
It looks suspiciously like a board game. I’ve already told The Wedding Date that he’d better not get me a board game, especially as he has a habit of buying board games for his kids that he himself wants, but lo and behold, beneath the paper is a box. A board game box. And it’s the worst board game ever.
I try to be graceful but seriously: Nightfall? The zombie apocalypse card game? I hand it back to The Wedding Date’s youngest, force a smile and say, “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy playing this, right?”
The Wedding Date hands it back to me and says, “Come on, open the box at least!”
So I open it. And inside instead of the customary zombie apocalypse cards is a pillowcase.
Not a new pillowcase, mind you, but one of the ones from The Wedding Date’s bedroom. Half the seams are coming out and I keep telling him to bring it with him the next time he’s comes over so I can run it through the sewing machine.
“Now you can fix it for me!” he announces with a triumphant smile.
“Great,” I mutter. But inside I’m thinking “A repair project? On my birthday? He wants me to sew his fucking pillowcase on my birthday?”
But by now he’s practically beside himself and tells me to keep looking. He fishes a tiny package out from underneath the pillowcase and hands it to me.
It’s a Duracell package.
“For your fan!” he exclaims. “Now you don’t have to keep stealing the batteries from your parents’ remote!”
Oh. My. God.
The fan in my room is connected to the light switch but the wiring is screwed up so even though there are two switches, only one works. Without batteries for my remote, my options are limited to “on” and “off” and I have to choice between using my light and using my fan.
I’ve been meaning to get batteries for the past three years but they’re a weird size and frankly I can’t be bothered to buy batteries or light bulbs or even my own socks most of the time. Fortunately The Wedding Date has done it for me.
Last but not least is another box. This time it’s a shoe box. I’m skeptical—I don’t trust anyone to buy me shoes—but then I see the size on the outside of the box and its way off. Like five sizes off. Doesn’t he know better?
But then I realize it’s not my size. It’s his. Which means…
He’s finally bought himself a pair of sandals to wear on the cruise!
No wonder he got all prickly when I suggested we try a different type of footwear when we were at the mall last week and told me to stop trying to change him.
They’re not flip flops, but they’re leather, or at least leather looking, as opposed to the black Adidas sandals he usually sports this time of year, and I’m so happy that I shower him with kisses.
Call me crazy, but I think his shoes were my favorite present.