Communication is key

It all comes down to communication. Good communication is the key to a happy marriage and getting the right Christmas present.

To be sure, I don’t have the best track record when it comes to purchasing presents for my too-kind-and-loving wife.

Two years ago, I got her a nice, monogrammed floor jack and a Sports Illustrated subscription. I am so thoughtful.

Once, I bought her this really cool black-light poster of Jimi Hendrix for Christmas.

I had put a lot of thought into my selection; I was conflicted because there was a David Cassidy poster too.

But Jimi came with a complimentary eight-track tape. You can only imagine my dismay when five years later, when we were having a yard sale, I found she was selling the poster for a dollar. The eight-track tape was free.

When I saw it, I got all sentimental, choked up, and nostalgic, remembering how young and in love we were. I had written on the poster, “To Dee with Love from your StudMuffin, aka…CaveGuy.”

I held it up so she could see, “Maybe we could get this framed and rehang it in the bedroom.”

After looking at me for a minute with tears of endearment in her eyes – or it could have been exasperation (they look the same to me) – she says, “You know, I think a black marker would cover over all that writing so that we can sell it.

“Better yet, put it in the free pile with the eight-track tape.”

I am under a great deal of pressure and so I work hard all year to listen carefully to what she says.

Once she said, “I need some help here. Maybe you could go out and take this garbage.”

What I heard was, “Looks like you’ve been working up sweat in that big overstuffed chair of yours. Perhaps you should go out and get a Pepsi before it’s your nap time.”

There is a reason I call her my too-kind-and-loving wife.

And recently, we went to Dubai, and I just had to have a Genie Lamp so I could get my three wishes.

I was so excited I asked her, “What would you do if you got three wishes?”

She responded wistfully, “I’d hire a cook, maid, and someone to do the laundry so that I could just say, ‘Hey, make me a sandwich and clean the basement. We have company coming this weekend!’”

I shook my head, “Not me. I already have one of those.”

There was a small kerfuffle and a whack across my forehead, and you should have heard her second wish. I can’t really put it in a family newspaper.

I thought perhaps Bubba might have some ideas for an appropriate Christmas gift. He is always taking his wife to exotic faraway places.

So we were over at my sister-in-law’s house talking about Christmas. Bubba asks his wife, “Name somewhere we haven’t been that we can go for Christmas?”

Faster than my brain thinks, my mouth just blurts, “How about the kitchen? Pretty sure she’s never been in there.”

I don’t know how things like this come out of my mouth. Sometimes keeping my mouth shut is my biggest accomplishment. We had to go home right after that.

The holidays are tough on a guy. I only have to buy one present; my too kind and loving wife buys all the others.

She actually knows how many grandkids we have and their favorite color and shoe size.

I am vaguely aware of short people in my house on holidays eating my food and making lots of noise.

Shopping stresses me out, so I eat. When I am happy, I eat. If I am trying to bond with someone, I eat. Pretty much if there is food anywhere, I eat.

But anyway, I digress. I read somewhere that people gain an average of seven pounds over the holidays.

I had complained that my old scale didn’t work. She said that if I sucked in my stomach, I could see the numbers. Isn’t she funny?

To help out, last Christmas my too-kind-and-loving wife bought me a new bathroom scale that tells you what your weight is and it offers encouragement to reach your weight goals.

Now when I get on the scale it says things like, “Whoa! Maybe you should have skipped dessert.” Or “Hey, get off! Hurry!” Or “You will probably want to wear your fat Levi’s today.”

So, I bought her a mirror that tells her things like, “Oh honey you look so cute in those. Tell me all about your long day. Would you like a massage? Maybe we should go out for dinner. Can I help with the dishes?”

It was next to the Jimi Hendrix poster with a sticker on it that said, “Free. Doesn’t work.”

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