Shari and I don’t give each other real presents on our birthdays or anniversaries any more. I tried giving her big, expensive gifts the first few years, but she never liked or used a single one of them.
Even the medium-range stuff didn’t fly: I had to get her store credit at The Cat Store for the oversized kitty nightshirt I bought her; I had never noticed that she sleeps
au naturel. (I’m not always the most observant guy. I once lived with a woman for nine months before learning—and only because she told me— that she had blue eyes; who looks?) Shari never rode the bicycle I got her. Never sat on the meditation cushion. And she doesn’t wear any jewelry, anywhere. No earrings, necklaces, ankle bracelets, navel piercings. I just learned this week, after 14 years together, that she does use eye makeup.
In place of fancy stuff, we have developed our own ritual that involves little cute silly things, with a $1-$2 ceiling on cost. Some favorites in recent years: an eraser in the shape of a cupcake, less than a half-inch high; a wind-up clown that can do back flips and spin a ball on its legs; a tiny compressed pirate that expands in water; a small ceramic piece of chocolate cake. There are always at least two cat-related cards involved, one for the birthday itself, and one for “Birthday Eve,” a holiday my friend Monica made up that we have also taken on, roughly doubling the amount of cheap cute funny things you need to buy and individually wrap and put in fancy gift bags with tissue paper, since the wrapping is actually Shari’s favorite part. I once put wrapping materials and gift bags inside a gift bag filled with wrapping materials, as the present. Sometimes we’ve hung balloons and a Happy Birthday banner. There’s also usually at least one refrigerator magnet in the picture, along with some unusual form of bubble-maker, and/or a cat finger-puppet.
This year, we decided that our ritual has played itself out, and it’s time to inaugurate a new one, as yet to be determined. But it’s up to me to create it, given that her birthday is in two days. So far I’ve only had one idea, but I’m not sure she will go for it: I’ve reserved a fish.
I saw a 12”, beautiful, deep gray fish at the fish store, with a kind of soulful face and eyes I have never before observed in a fish. It seemed it could be much more like a pet than the standoffish goldfish we have swimming in our pond now. Shari will for sure give it a funny name, to go with Spelunky, Mercurochrome, and the evil Go F*** Yourself. I’ve already reserved the new guy, put it on layaway, and will pick it up later today to surprise her. My fear is she will say, “It’s too big for our pond” (it isn’t) or “It will scare and disturb the other fish” (no way to know). I have a funny feeling about it; could lead to a fight. Should I cancel the fish? Then I got nuthin’.
Our problem is that neither of us particularly like “stuff.” She and her girlfriends generally give each other little girlie packages of soaps and body lotions, sometimes incense and Quan Yin figurines, most of which Shari re-packages, throws in a scented candle, and gives to someone else. I only like books, and only I can pick them out, and how many Barnes & Noble or Amazon gift cards can you get someone? As many as you like, if my in-laws are any indication. And Shari only likes to shop for clothes at TJ Maxx and Marshall’s, but how many of those gift cards can you give someone? No limit, if my Dad is your guideline. We ourselves have never given each other gift cards; they’re way too impersonal, and besides, my money is her money so it makes no sense. Reminds me of the joke: A guy standing at a bar turns to the woman next to him and says, “Can I buy you a drink, or would you just prefer the cash?”
There’s the popular stand-by used by many: the special dinner out. Only problem is, neither of us is particularly into eating, or food. At home we play a waiting game at dinnertime. We keep doing whatever we’re doing, hoping the other one will get hungry enough first to actually mosey into the kitchen and whip something up. Six o’clock goes by. Seven o’clock. Eight. Finally at nine or later we’ll bump into each other in the kitchen, staring at the canned goods, starving, and dinner will be Split Pea Soup, some carrot sticks and microwave popcorn.
A couple of years ago I panicked because I realized that Shari was turning 45, and usually the “fives” and “zeros” get a little more fanfare, and I couldn’t think of anything really special to mark the distinction. Finally in a panic and dripping with sweat, I confessed to Shari that I was freaking out about what to do for her 45th. She said, “Well you can relax, because I turned 45 last year.” Whew. Dodged that land mine.
Finally, many years ago I was a volunteer for the Holiday Hospital Project, a group that visited nursing homes and mental institutions on Christmas morning and sang carols and spread good cheer. Each of us wore a button that said "I'm the gift." And that's really the bottom line, is it not? When all is said and done, the best gift I have to offer Shari is, arguably, none other than, well...me! So Happy Birthday my love, here I am! Lucky you! (All sales final; no returns, exchanges or refunds. You break it, you bought it.)
P.S. I hope you like the fish. And don't eat it.
Love,
the husband
EPILOGUE: It's not that she didn't like the fish, exactly. It's that she pointed out that it was a koi, and likely to grow to about twice the length of our pond. Not to mention that being dark gray in a murky pond, once we released it we would likely never see it again. So I returned it and got fish credit. Note to newly-married men: not such a great idea to buy your wife a fish for her birthday. What the hell was I thinking?
