Don't ask me what I'm getting for Christmas.
Or, if you do, don't expect me to say, "I dunno."
Because I do know. Everything. All of it. Every last thing. Because I bought it.
Some husbands get hints from their wives. Some get a nice, detailed list. Some get catalog pages torn out with item numbers circled. In red.
Then they summon up their courage, brave the mall, fight the crowds and spend the time to get their wives exactly what they want. Warriors, they are.
My husband? He just goes shopping with me.
Here's how it works: The two of us (who are pretty much always together), go to a store. I see something I would like/love.
Me: Ooooh. Look hon! You could so buy me this for Christmas.
Him: <Picks it up. Puts it in the cart. Smiles>
No mental notes. No cell phone photo so he can come back later. No Amazon.com search. He just buys it. Right there.
Then he takes it home and hides it in the closet until Christmas Eve, when he takes it out and expects me to help him wrap it.
At least I know I'll be getting what I want. (This year is a very Martini Christmas!) But while everyone else ooohs and ahhhs over their gifts, I'll open mine and remember where we bought it. And how much we paid for it.
At least I won't have to exchange anything.
Merry Christmas to all! I hope you get what you want too.
|Last year I had a BLUE Christmas!|