For Christmas this year my wife got me a hat. I really, really wanted this hat, it is cold here and I need to keep warm while out clearing the driveway. This is upstate New York and during the winter that becomes a major task, one which takes up a tremendous ammount of time. Especially if you have kids like mine, who will without fail come up with a incurable ailment, or suddenly remember a pressing homework assignment whenever the driveway needs shoveling. Actually, while I may bitch about it, I really don't mind shoveling. I can listen to my i-pod, and I kind of find the solitude comforting.
Anyway, back to the hat. The hat I wanted was a mad bomber hat, the kind with the ear flaps and all, and as you can see it is wonderful. The only problem is that my wife absolutely hates the hat. She is mortified when I wear it, and says that with my beard, the fur on the hat makes me look just too hairy. She also complains that I look like I have just stumbled in from the frozen tundra, perhaps returning from hunting rabbits.
The thing that gives this tale an O Henryesque twist of irony is one of the gifts I gave to her for Christmas. I got her an electric mattress heater, and I hate this damn thing. It gets the bed way too hot and it is impossible to find a cool spot while falling asleep. Even though only her side is turned on, it gets warm. it kind of makes me long for the Lucy and Ricky days, where married couples each had thier own beds, and I guess would schedule conjical visits. But this is just like "The Gift of the Maji", only instead of the giver sacrificing their most prized possessions for their spouse, gifts were given that annoyed the living shit out of the givers. While admittadly, the story is not written as flowery as my favorite author would have written, it is still romantic in a real world sort of way.
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