A Gift To Remember

A Gift to Remember

Okay…it happened again. My hubby did it. He did something so--bloggable. Anyway, I’ve decided to share.

It doesn’t matter that he got that panicked look on his face after he’d committed “said” crime, and pleaded, “You’re can’t blog about this. Tell me you’re not gonna blog about this.” And then he immediately went into the act of . . . “But I was just joking. Really, I was.” And after seeing my smile, he said, “Fine, if you have to blog about it, you gotta tell them that I said I was joking.” I’m not convinced I believe him, but as promised, I agreed to tell you he said it.

Nevertheless, joke or not, it was too late when he made his no-blog plea. The blog was already half written in my mind.

Let me give you the background, so you’ll understand the “crime.” Hubby’s work sent him to Chicago for two weeks. Any of you who live up north, or anyone who has read Kathy’s snow blogs, knows that it wasn’t the best time to visit the area.

Now for a southern person that beautiful white flakey stuff that falls from the sky is pretty. Pretty when we watch it on television, gorgeous on captured in film on Christmas cards, and a miracle to experience it in person. (At least for a while.)

And while he got to experience this winter miracle, I got phone calls. Daily--long, drawn-out, detailed phone calls. Supposedly it was in my marriage contract. I must have missed the clause that stated a wife is also required to listen to hours upon hours of weather complaints from her hubby.

It wasn’t just about the weather. It was about . . . how hubby’s Uncle Jimmy and his boys had disappeared like turtles between his legs, about how falling icicles could take him out, (he’d even seen a show about it) about how any uncovered piece of human flesh would fall off your body if it was left insufficiently uncovered for the slightest amount of time. (Which explained his wearing two pairs of Hanes.) About how the white crap, AKA: snow, (it had stopped being a miracle after the second day) fell on his rental car every night and had to be removed before he could drive. And then there was the complaint of how the car rental company had not included a brush or some sort of device to remove “said” white crap from the car.

Phone call, after phone call, after phone call, I listened to his weather-related reports. I also heard how he respected the will to live, the courage, and the fortitude of every northerner alive. They were, as he put it, “a bigger person than himself.” Of course, after a couple more days, he also questioned the IQ of anyone who chose to live under such calamitous, ominous, dire conditions. Amazing, how a ten-drop in temperature can alter one’s opinion. Let’s just say we won’t be moving up north anytime soon.

But let’s get back to hubby’s crime. He had arrived back in Houston, reveling in the fact that his uncle and boys had resurfaced unharmed. We were already in bed, when I asked the question he and my son always ask me when I return from a trip. “Did you bring me anything?”

Surely, the hours of listening to weather reports and updates on Uncle Jim and his boys
conditions would rate me something. Much to my delight, hubby got a gleam in his eyes.

“I do have you a little something.” He jumped out of bed and ran to his yet-to-be-unpacked suitcase. I was a little more than surprised. Have I mentioned my hubby is rather frugal? Okay he’s cheap. Still, I had hinted at my desire for another pair of silver earrings. And that was little. I leaned up on my elbow and watched him, hoping it was a small box he pulled out.

Much to my dismay, shock, and disbelief, the man pulled a toilet brush from his suitcase. I swear, I’m not joking. To his credit, it’s a pretty, bright yellow color.

“You . . . you brought me a toilet brush?” I imagined him stealing it from the hotel . . . gross! I stared horrified at the gift, thinking I so would have preferred earrings.

He seemed to read my mind, at least part of it. “It’s never been used…well, not for toilet cleaning.

My mouth dropped open. Are you as curious as I was to know exactly what the brush has been used for? I stared at him and waited for the explanation. And believe me, I was determined to get one. Curious minds have to know!

He finally spoke up. “I bought it to get the snow off my car.”

“You bought it for what?” I asked.

“Remember, they didn’t put a snow brush in the rental car,” he said as if that explained everything.

“But that’s a toilet brush,” I said, worried my husband had been hit in the head with a falling icicle. I mean, he was normally a semi-intelligent person. The semi part apparent due to his offering me a toilet brush as a gift.

“Yeah, but they were out of snow brushes and . . .(And that is where it all finally made sense to me) and this was the cheapest brush that had a handle on it.” See what I mean about him being cheap?

Now, I haven’t seen anything yet, but I swear I know that on some blog is a northerner writing about seeing a weak, cold-hating idiot southerner, using a bright yellow toilet brush to remove the snow from his car.

So, there you have another hubby story. Have you ever gotten a less than desirable gift from someone? Come on, make me feel better about my toilet brush. And as you all know, Valentine’s Day is coming up? Got any ideas of what I can give hubby?

~Crime Scene Christie