Squawk Radio

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

Connie and The Really Bad Present

I hesitated a bit about doing the flip on Christina’s blog because I don’t want you all to get the wrong idea about my darling husband. He’s a really great, generous guy. But he is a guy so therefore when a birthday or an anniversary or other momentous occasion (like finishing a book) rolls around he sometimes doesn’t get that I expect good presents and usually his excuse is this incredibly lame, “I didn’t realize it (momentous occassion) was coming up so quickly!” to which I generally respond, “Yeah! Who would have thunk they’d stick Christmas on the TWENTY-FIFTH OF DECEMBER, fer Chrissakes!”

In his defense, he has come up with some glorious presents. And that’s the problem.

A couple years ago he took me out to a very elegant restaurant for my birthday and there between the main course and the dessert presented me with a something so amazing it took my breath away— he gave me a love letter he’d written for me. He’d never given me a love letter before and this one was a douzy. Of course, I read it and, of course, immediately burst into huge, whooping, choking sobs, tears and mascara coursing down my face. I mean, I’m Irish and I had a full- blown Irish wail right there in front of all the nice people in their nice gowns eating their really nice dinners by candlelight. My husband, who is not Irish but Norwegian (and this odd pairing alone deserves a blog of its own) chuckled because he thinks this whole Irish Drama Queen thing is a trip, while all around us people glared at him, obviously thinking he’d brought me there as a farewell dinner and was telling me I was being replaced by some young thang. (Only if the young thang likes castratos)

Anyway, the upshot of all this is that in the midst of my highly emotional, over-wrought state I whimpered these dire words, “I don’t care if you ever get me another present again!” Which, now that I think of it and knowing the Machiavellian turn of the Nordic mind, may well have been the original impulse behind this gesture. Anyway—Arctic Boy took my words to heart.

Since that date he has definitely been lax on the “looking for the perfect present,” and Christmas this year we reached a whole new level of ...something. I offer, for your consideration, MY REALLY BAD PRESENT.



Okay I admit it, I do grin every time I look at it because isn’t this so like a guy? One day he has you feeling like you scored the lottery because he is so perfect and the next wondering if his thought processes actually entail synapses connecting with one another or if they are merely firing away at random.


So, let’s hear it, my dears. What’s the worst present you ever got and from whom?
Connie Brockway, 10:20 AM
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