The Day I Discovered That I Just Don't Give A Shirt Anymore
Years ago, before the kids came along, back when the ex and I were young-ish and married-ish and could take wonderful, spontaneous vacations, an old ski buddy of his called him up and told him he'd gotten a screaming good deal on a weekend ski package to Vail, Colorado.
I don't ski.
I want to ski. I really do. I've even gone a few times. I never made it off the bunny slope, but I had a blast doing it, even though I was by myself all day while the ex was skiing the hills he wanted to ski. But I digress. The point is, Vail would have been wasted on me because I wasn't much of a skiier. Add to that our just-starting-out salaries, and paying to have me go along as a spectator was kind of silly, really. He'd have a much better time without me along.
The buddy had a wife who was of the same mind as me, and we both gave our blessing, telling them to go have a great bro-bonding weekend and remember that they owed us when we wanted to go to an island somewhere.
So off they went for four fabulous days in beautiful Vail and they did indeed have an outstanding time. On the evening they returned, I was dispatched to pick them both up at the airport, since we lived not far from it, and on the way back to the house to pick up his car, my husband's buddy showed me all the stuff he'd bought for his wife.
He got her perfume. He got her jewelry. He got her chocolate and a tee shirt and a really pretty dress he saw. I want to stress here that they didn't make any more money than we did, and all the gifts were of modest value, but they were very nice, and I assured him they were nice as he asked my opinion on each one.
When he was done, my husband smiled big and held up the gift bag he was toting. "I'll give you yours at dinner," he said. We bid goodbye to his buddy, and off we went to TGI Fridays, where he set my gift bag down across from a plate of steaming buffalo wings. "Go ahead, open it," he urged. So I did.
And this is what he got me.