I’m not going to ride the McDonald’s Gravy Train of Easy Bloggery again today, so everyone can rest easy. No, I have bigger fish to fry now. In fact, now I’ve got full blown panic. I realized today that the Puddinette’s birthday is just barely over a week away.
I’m sure that for some people, there’s no call to rush to the bomb shelter when the Big Day is still over a week away. But some people aren’t me. I have to work within the confines of three very significant handicaps. Namely,
- we’re leaving for vacation on her birthday, which complicates the entire operation,
- she has a tendency to ask for things that I deem unworthy of birthday giftage, and
- I’m me, and that makes everything more complicated.
As for the vacation, I’m sure you know what I mean. Some of us, and I’m not naming names here, but some of us have a tendency to, um, procrastinate when it comes to acquiring gifts for people. Now, there might be a rumor going around suggesting I’m one such person, but I’ll deny it to my grave. I’ve certainly never stopped on the way home from work and bought a 5.99 Valentine’s Day card with caricatures of a couple of septuagenarians that’s clearly meant for the couple who celebrates by watching the 6:30 evening repeat of Matlock before turning in because it was the only card left. And there’s absolutely no plausible evidence anywhere that might incriminate me of doing the majority of my Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. No, no, I wrap the gifts I’m planning to give away at 11:30 on Christmas Eve because, um, I like it better that way. Yeah. I, uh, just don’t want the box sitting under the tree long enough for people to start shaking it around in a vain attempt to ferret out the contents. Yeah, yeah, that’s the ticket.
So, the other problem when it comes to getting gifts for my better half revolves around the fact that she rarely asks for anything I would consider an acceptable gift option. I suspect that’s got more to do with me than her, though. Growing up, there was never really a lot of cash handy to be thrown at new stuff for us kids. So, during the course of the year, I wasn’t getting the crappy $1.50 grocery store disc-shooter toy unless I bought it With My Own Money, because my parents were too busy spending their money on frivolous things like the mortgage, milk, and husky jeans.
To make up for the fact that exciting, shiny, new things were generally only attained at either Christmas or one’s birthday, the gift lists for such events typically extended beyond my wildest dreams of avarice. Well, ok, not really. I’m pretty good at wanting
stuff. The Puddinette, on the other hand, is a Reasonable Person. She doesn’t circle her birthday on calendars and write “Pony Day” in the bubble. I know, it’s craziness. Instead, she often struggles to come up with something she wants, and usually decides on an item like costume jewelry, a new garden trowel, or sexy pink wool socks.
See what I have to work with? It’s ridiculous. Why couldn’t I just marry a normal, greedy, selfish woman like those Housewives on TV?
At any rate, the clock is ticking; I’ve got 9, wait, 8 days to find something that’ll make her feel “special”. Anyone got the number for a pony breeder?