No Gift of the Magi

Many of us remember reading that wonderfully romantic, yet wistful tale “The Gift of the Magi” when we were kids. It was the story of a young couple’s love so deep that they gave up items of great personal value and sentiment to express their love for one another. The man sold his pocket watch—a piece of jewelry that had great sentimental value—so he could buy his wife beautiful shell combs she admired, to accent her lustrous, silky, long hair—the very hair that she had cut off and sold in order to get him a fob chain for his pocket watch. Their sacrifices were priceless. No one could put a price tag on the value, not even Wal-mart.

Few expect or experience anything like this at Christmas or other times of gift exchange. I know that I had imagined nothing like this and I got much less. I can say that I did make some sacrifices… of my pride and common sense perhaps. The evening started sweetly enough. I was excited to see my boyfriend after months apart while he was away for military training. I was happy to give him a gift for his most beloved possession, a Harley Davidson (not to ruin the suspense or keep you from reading the rest of this story, but no, he did not sell his bike to buy a gift for me). I bought him a cover to protect it from dirt and the elements. I was disappointed that it was on back order but I didn’t mind getting creative and printing off a picture of a bike modeling the cover to roll into a scroll and tie with a red ribbon.

We lay in his family’s home on his boyhood twin-sized bed and prepared to exchange presents. In addition to the scroll I had a stocking filled with a few of his favorite things like hot sauce, wool socks and a Transformer toy. (No I was not dating someone in middle school, although that would have excused some of his behavior.) He was happy with his presents and what he called my thoughtfulness (alright so he did recognize it when he saw it).
It was my turn. I waited with bated breath. I had emailed him a few suggestions of things I would like: perfume, jewelry, gift cards to stores and salons I frequent. I had even given specifics. But I saw a small box on the end table near the bed so I was thrilled at the prospect of him picking something out on his own. He reached into his large khaki-colored backpack and pulled out … Want to find out what the gift was? Order a copy of “He’s Not Prince Charming When…”

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