Before Christmas I mentioned that I had given Jon a list of things I did not want him to get me. In case you aren’t married to a man and already painfully aware of this, men don’t listen, unless of course you’re wearing nothing but underwear and then you have their undivided attention whether you want it or not.
Jon got me one of everything on that list except a piece of furniture upholstered in denim, and that’s only because The World sold all of its denim furniture to my mom so she could furnish her cabin and there was none leftover. You should see the denim bedspread and matching pillow shams in one of the bedrooms, bought to match the red, white and blue theme of the rest of the room. It looks like George Washington exploded like a grenade all over the walls.
Jon was most worried about the jewelry portion of the list, purchased he claims before I handed out the orders. I have to hand it to him though, because if I were going to draw up a plan that specified exactly how I wanted him to go about finding and ordering me a piece of jewelry online it would be no different than how he did it:
1) Refresh Mighty Goods until Maggie posts a link to a piece of jewelry she likes.
2) Buy it.
On Christmas morning I opened up a small box containing this ring:
It’s a lot bigger than it looks in that photo, and if at all possible even groovier. It works as both an accessory and a weapon in case I need to knock anyone in the forehead with my fist. I’m so glad that I didn’t open that box and find something like this:
Jon also bought me a inoffensive sweater, which might sound bad to you but is perfect for me. Sweaters should not smile or portray emotion. They should not be yummy. They shouldn’t glimmer or shimmer or reflect particles of the atmosphere. Sweaters should just exist without getting in anyone’s way, and the one he bought me serves its singular purpose for existence: I can wear it five days in a row and no one will really notice.
I have never sewn anything in my life except my wild oats. My goal is to make at least two sock creatures this year — that should allow me enough time to learn how to thread a needle.
Finally and certainly not the least important, Jon bought me a flash for the camera, the Nikon SB-800 AF Speedlight:
When I opened the box and saw the Nikon packaging I thought he had bought me a lens and I almost hit him in the head with my ring finger. A lens can cost more than the house, and we had made an agreement that we were only going to spend a specific amount on all of our Christmas shopping: $10. The flash is a little more expensive than that, but I forgave him once I saw how it was going to change the way we take pictures indoors:
And in case you’re wondering I got Jon a plaid handkerchief that has “World’s Greatest Mom” embroidered in its corner. He got misty when he opened it.