To Me, On Your Birthday

For my birthday my husband bought himself a present and gave it to me. An array of knobs, numbers, letters and arrows on the 4 x 6 inch box indicated it was a miniature radio.

“This little technological wonder,” my husband offers proudly, “operates many hours on a battery that re-charges every second that it’s plugged in.”

I force a smile. If I had been able to choose anything I wanted for my birthday, it would not have been a radio, not even a technological wonder.

“It’s expensive,” he continues, “but, the cost is justifiable because this little item serves dual purposes—your birthday present, and a great addition to our 72-hour emergency kit.”

I’m not impressed.

He’s thrilled.

So for his birthday, one month later, I  buy me a gift and give it to him—a freestanding Hammock. 

He doesn’t pretend to smile. If he had been able to choose anything for his birthday it would not be a hammock.

I can’t justify the cost—the price of my firstborn—and it’s extra-large and weighs 2000 lbs., hardly able to fit in a 72-hour emergency kit. No dual purpose. And he has to assemble it.

He’s not impressed.

I’m thrilled.

Birthdays are coming up again. I can hardly wait.