The phone rang. I was off duty as of five minutes ago. Suck it, people! I looked at the caller ID. It was NOT the ER this time.
I answered it.
“Hey! I got you something special….”
“Really?” I tried to hide the surprise in my voice.
“Yep! You’re gonna love it,” he promised.
I hopped into the car, heart swelling, and fantasized about that gift all of the way over from the hospital. What could it be? Jewelry? An antique of some sort? A rare book?
He never got me real presents. But it was Valentine’s Day after all and he had been out of town at a specialty conference all week.
Please let it be something nice!
When I arrived he proudly handed over the gift bag. It was navy blue and it felt heavy.
Not jewelry, then.
I tossed the white tissue paper aside and looked eagerly inside. A breath caught in my chest.
There were dozens of drug rep pens. A viagra tie. One of those squeezy heart shaped stress ball thingies emblazoned with the name of a heart medication. An out of state hospital system sports bottle. AND a flimsy looking vegetable peeler with a tag that made it clear it was some sort of lame marketing gimmick: “Peel back the fog, try our Alzheimer’s medication…”
I looked up to examine his face, searching for a clue as to whether or not this was a joke.
“Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes sparkling hopefully.
Not a joke. Dang.
“Um. How many girlfriends have you had before?”
“Why do you ask?”
I grabbed the sports bottle and filled it with ice water, took a sip, then told him that I loved it all.
He beamed. It was then that I understood. Sometimes the smartest men are the most clueless.
But that’s OK. You just have to love them anyway.
“Do you have some carrots? We can try out that veggie peeler…”