By Linda Rondeau
He opened his
Christmas gifts first, then dancing with anticipation handed me my
present. The gift bag was securely
closed with a ridge of scotch-tape, evidence of his own hand in this artful
presentation. I exercised all the
pre-opening rituals: gently stroking the outside, carefully shaking it near the
ear, and complimenting the packaging, as well as the obligatory, “Thank you,
Honey.” I even ventured a few guesses.
“Jewelry?”
“No.”
“Well, judging by the shape,
it’s probably not candy.”
“You’re right. It’s not candy.”
“Pajamas! Silk, right?”
“No. It’s not pajamas but you’re getting
closer. Go ahead. Open it.”
In an instant, I popped the row of scotch tape and
looked inside the satiny red wrapping bag. I froze in disbelief as I stared at
what my husband deemed the perfect gift.
“A SHOWER MASSAGE!” I knew right then and there the romance was more
than dead. It was beyond resuscitation.
In fact, it was stone cold. “For me?” I feigned pleasure.
“Well, it’s really for the both
of us. That’s why I spent a little
extra.”
Since we bought a video camera as a mutual Christmas
present to each other, we set a personal gift limit of $25. He went over the top to $30. “You shouldn’t have,” I said honestly.
“I know you said you wanted
jewelry. Surprised?”
“Oh, yes. I’m speechless!”
At some point over the past couple decades, the
Prince Charming I married went through a metamorphosis. The handsome suitor who used to buy me
Russell Stover Chocolates emerged an aged athlete peddling Mr. Coffee. Practicality slowly replaced
sentimentality. I wanted to tell Joe
DiMaggio to take a hike, find my misplaced fairy godmother, and tell her to
bring back Prince Charming.
Instead I muttered a
half-hearted, “Gee. Thank you.”
“Pour yourself another cup of coffee and relax while
I get the shower massage ready for you.”
He took the monstrosity from the bag; and with his toolbox in hand,
bounded up the steps like a schoolboy at recess.
He whistled while he worked. In the meantime, I stewed in my disappointment. “A shower massage. Ump!” I felt like Grumpy while he played the part
of Happy.
“All set,” he beamed. “You first!
After all, it is your present.”
“That it is.”
I trudged to the upstairs bathroom, took off my robe, and stepped into
the wide spread spray. To my pleasant
surprise, the steamy mist enveloped my senses.
I felt as if I had just entered a sauna.
“Well, now.
This is sort of nice.” I took
the showerhead in hand and experimented with the dial. Suddenly, reams of pulsating gushes hit my
arthritic joints. I let my mind drift,
imagining I was under a waterfall in Tahiti.
“Hey, I thought. This is not bad. Not bad at all.”
When there was no more hot water, I reluctantly
turned the shower off, towel-dried, put on my bathrobe, and wandered
downstairs.
Joe DiMaggio was anxiously
awaiting the umpire’s verdict.
“Well?” He looked like an
innocent child who had just given his mother a wilted dandelion, waiting for a
hug of gratitude.
“It’s out of the ball park,
Slugger. A grand slam homerun.”
He smiled his
cute little boy smile. Behind the smirk,
I recognized the faded but familiar royalty that I fell in love with so many
years ago. Joltin’ Joe had not
completely taken over. My once darling
Prince Charming still lived inside that paunchy but adorable man, and he knew
exactly what this tired, achy body needed.
Winner of the 2012 Selah Award for best first novel (The
Other Side of Darkness/Harbourlight), LINDA RONDEAU, writes for the reader who
enjoys a little bit of everything. Her stories of redemption and God’s mercies
include romance, suspense, the ethereal, and a little bit of history into the
mix, always served with a slice of humor. Walk with her unforgettable
characters as they journey paths not unlike our own. After a long career in
human services, mother of three and wife of one very patient man, Linda now
resides in Florida where she is active in her church and community. Readers may visit her web site at www.lindarondeau.com. Her second book, written under L.W. Rondeau,
America II: The Reformation (Trestle Press), is a futuristic political thriller published is
now available in ebook on Amazon.com
and Barnes
and Noble.
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10 comments:
Love this. Great blog story. Blessings, BJ Robinson
Such a gorgeous story. I've only been married seven years, and I've already learned that letting him surprise me nets me gifts like Walmart bathrobes and vacuum cleaners. Sigh. I find that the romance in his gift giving is in the thought, not the actual gift... Good for you getting at least twenty years of good gifts! :D
Patty and BJ thanks for stopping by and for your kind words.
Gorgeous story. Oh, how we have to look beyond . . . (as you said) to see the romance, sometimes. I told a young friend recently--just TELL them what you want, don't hint. But of course that doesn't always work. lol
Enjoyed the move from hidden disappointment, fake gratitude, to "Wow! This is nice." Coupling your response to the gift with your conflicting thoughts about the giver made for a great read. Thanks, Linda.
Caroline and Tom...thanks for stopping by and for the positive feedback.
Sweet! I loved it. It's so true to how we look at things so narrowly sometimes. God bless you for helping us open our eyes to possibilities...
@Donna B
Romance doesn't die with age, it changes direction.
Linda, what a great story! Thanks for sharing. So true...
@ Amy
thanks for stopping by
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