Somehow I managed to marry the hardest person in the world to buy gifts for. It’s true. I would never lie about something like that because, well, that would be an idiotic thing to lie about. I’d rather lie about being smart or being the 2007 Regional 4-Square Champion.
I’ve already started my Christmas Brainstorming for 2007 because, as I’ve learned to do since getting married, even if I start by Halloween I’ll still be trying to fill that meager quota of gifts by the 25th of December. Maybe I should push it up to Easter instead.
“Two years in to marriage and each Christmas season has become more of a frenzied sprint to reinvent oxygen rather than embracing that yuletide joy.”
The problem with The Wife™ is that she’s too easy-going. She’s not a material girl or a pamper-me chick, so the typical suggestions of spa treatments or salon days are out. She’d punch me in the nose if I got her something like that because they make her uncomfortable. We get along really well like that.
She doesn’t cook, so cookbooks, cooking classes or fancy appliances would be unappreciated. She doesn’t really drink anything besides cancer juice Diet Coke, so vintage wine, a tea set or an espresso machine are no-gos. Candles, fancy soaps, yoga equipment, perfume, electronics…nothing. Wouldn’t be interested in any of it. Hell, even if expensive jewelry fell within our tiny monetary allotment for each other, she’d still politely scoff. She’s not too sweet on jewelry either. She has no real hobbies, which makes me think that if I ever snuck out of the house, I’d come back one day to find her still sitting on the couch watching Comedy Central, unaware that I was even missing.
Two years in to marriage and each Christmas season has become more of a frenzied sprint to reinvent oxygen rather than embracing that yuletide joy. Coming up with potential gift ideas makes me feel like MacGuyver attempting to rewire an exploding bomb using WD-40 and an afro pick. I’ve already exhausted the few avenues of possibility between the first two Christmases, each time feeling like a friggin’ champ for coming up with a handful of creative, thoughtful gifts. Gifts like wool camping socks (because she has terrible circulation and frankly I was tired of almost having a heart attack each night when she would kick me with her icy talons).
Yea, that’s how far we’ve come in two years. Wool socks. But they were SmartWool dammit.
So as I continue to spend lunch breaks at work laboring over the flowchart of ideas (you think I’m joking), I’ve come up with perhaps one item that doesn’t duplicate anything given previously. And it sucks.
By this time next year I’ll be even more screwed. Perhaps I should just make up some hobbies for her. Like Laundry or Bathroom Cleaning. Or listening. Listening would be a great hobby. That would give me unlimited things to work with.
