My husband has a history of buying me some pretty damn perfect presents.
He is by no means perfect, or the perfect husband. But he does seem to have a nearly supernatural ability to hone in on a less than obvious nook of my personality, and buy the gift that fills that cranny, so to speak.
For example, he knows I can be a little…specific about food.
In that it can’t touch. Ever.
He can go to a Chinese buffet, and just start stacking. The thought of rice touching my ginger beef makes me gag. Even within a food, I can get picky. The mustard needs to be on the meat side of a sandwich, never the cheese side. (I know. I know.)
And so, a couple of Christmases ago, he gave me this:
He also knows that I spend an entirely inordinate amount of time obsessed with the disasters that could potentially befall our household.
One Christmas, I found a carbon monoxide detector in my stocking.
(image from here)
And I slept like a mother-truckin’ baby after that.
A fire extinguisher and new smoke alarms followed. They were muchly appreciated.
As of tonight, I’ve come up with a gift that combines both of these bits of freakishness.
Because as I was slicing into my pork chop, examining the piece closely, to make sure that the proportion of fat to meat fell within the acceptable range, I got a little too close. And in a one in a million shot, a piece of hot, salty, oily pork chop flew DIRECTLY into my eyeball.
A three-year old and a six-year-old might make lovely dinner companions. They might even make worthy conversational participants. But they make really shitty optometrists.
Neither one of them could see the offending piece of pork, nor could they help me dig it out. And having never nested meat inside their own eyeballs, they were completely unable to empathize, and thus lost interest nearly immediately.
And while I sat there, feeling a ginormous eye booger begin somewhere in my lower eyelid, I mentally added a new item to the very top of my Christmas list:
(image from here)
(And to answer your question, no, I do not give a tiny rat’s ass what an eye-wash station will do to the resale value of my house, thank you very much. Because clearly, rational is waaaay back there in the rear-view mirror.)