Honey, I shrank your gift
NEVER ask me what I want for Christmas. As my husband learnt over the years, I will always ask for something ridiculously expensive that wouldn’t fit under the Christmas tree, such as a beribboned SUV on our driveway by Christmas morning; a beauty package that includes a few Botox injections; or a twin-door fridge loaded with premium chocolate.
Hubby hasn’t asked me the question since the turn of the century. When I ask him in turn, his answer is always the same: “Surprise me!”
This reply allows me wide latitude in using my shopping prowess, or it can lead to disaster – gifts he cannot use, eat or put on. Hubby calls such gifts deadweights, as they are left to languish in the drawer. Some creativity is needed to get the right gift for someone who gives such an ambiguous answer.
So how do I surprise him? Past surprises include a pair of chequered boxers, a handsewn sarong, a hefty magnifying glass to read the small print on labels (which he always checks), and a bathrobe that made him perspire just by looking at it.
Well, I’m hoping to do something different this year: Since he is an avid reader of The Star, I hope he finds this year’s Christmas surprise in one of its pages on a beautiful Sunday morning.
So, honey, consider this open letter of adoration as my gift to you in recognition of our 37 years of marriage, three daughters and two grandchildren.
Dear Hubby,
Thank you for looking after me. When I married you, I did not realise that I was gaining a cook, housekeeper, bodyguard, gardener, garbage collector, pest exterminator, porter and back scratcher, all rolled into a handsome package weighing 77kg.
You are also my best adviser – the Wise Man of the East, as I sometimes call you. You always give me sensible, practical and clear-cut solutions to pressing matters.
Still, your most outstanding attribute is your unadulterated sense of humour. You can concoct a joke at the spur of the moment. Over time, we are able to match each other joke for joke, fart for fart. With both of us now in our 60s, the laughter occasionally spills into inadvertent flatulence. Regard the leakage as one of the side effects of ageing.
Hey, thank you for being my ballast, the one who keeps me steady in sticky situations. Thanks for the patience, ya, especially when I behave like an idiot with the brain of a mosquito. You are forever the cool guy. Firecrackers can go off near your bum and you will still be standing, unrattled and unruffled.
During your bachelor days there were prettier and smarter girls in our midst but you chose me, the one with the button nose. And I did tell you that my nose made funny noises at night, didn’t I? But you were undeterred. Maybe I piqued your curiosity. Or perhaps you saw the good in me. Whatever!
Honestly, good guys like you are on the wane. I am grateful for the love we accumulate, and thankful that we are able to grow old together. My cup runs over.
Allow me now to wrap up this gift with lots of love.
Yours always,
Wife
Mary Eu Johor