Prefers Her Fantasy Life : Gift Giving Impairment

As you may have noted in my previous posting, my Spousal Unit didn’t do anything for my birthday. Now I know from reading enough women’s magazines that you’re not supposed to complain about such things, but really—couldn’t I have married someone who wasn’t missing the gift-giving gene?

You’d think I’d be used to it.

One year I sent him out to get a present for my dad. I knew it was a roll of the dice, but I was prepared to be gracious. Until he came home with a football.

A football, for my dad? I asked in that non-blaming, none tonal voice the magazines suggest.

Yeah, I thought he might enjoy tossing it around a bit.

Well maybe. But, um…my dad doesn’t even go outside.

He might get into it.

OK. But I’m just wondering…did you think of the fact that my dad is, like…old?

He’s not that old.

Well, maybe 72 isn’t that old. But won’t he have a hard time playing having limited eyesight?

He can see out of one eye, he snapped.

OK. That’s true. But it might be difficult for him to throw the ball with his fingers all gnarled from the arthritis.

It might be good for him.

At that point I’d reached my limit on genectically-correct responses. TAKE IT BACK, I barked, AND GET HIM A CASE OF HEINEKEN.

Of course the football fiasco isn’t an isolated incident.

One Christmas, I swear, he gave me a pillowcase and a hairbrush. Full disclosure—we were living in Tokyo at the time and Spousal Unit figured we weren’t celebrating Christmas. But still, couldn’t he come up with a case of Heineken, or Kirin or even a Hello Kitty keychain?

And then there was the birthday where he bought me some jumper cables. Was there an intended message on what he wanted to jump start? I don’t know, but I said nothing, just like this year WHEN I GOT NOTHING.

I do try to be sensitive to those less gift-giving endowed than myself. I’ve learned to open a beer, take out the credit card and get busy on the web. Here is what I bought myself this year: