Chris and I had agreed to not get presents for each other this year. We even had the “I’m not getting you anything conversation”. Chris is impossible to buy for. He sees something he wants, he gets it. I see something I want, I hem-haw over the purchase until the thing disappears. I need permission to buy things for myself. So whenever a gift-giving holiday rolls around, I never know what to get Chris, and he’s got loads of things stock piled away to give to me. But because of the iPad, and some new phones that may be showing up this week, I thought we were not giving out gifts.

Saturday morning, when I walked into the living room, I noticed that the beer I had left for Santa was empty and all the pretzels were gone. And then, when I peered over the table, I noticed two neatly wrapped packages under the tree. Then I unwrapped the 1965 Astronaut Barbie I had picked up off the shelf and put back on the shelf twenty-thousand times, each time telling myself that I didn’t need a Barbie, even if she says she’s rocket scientist. But that last gift? That gift I opened that made me start crying? Not kidding. Tears the size of Oklahoma hail storms welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t speak because I knew if I opened my mouth nothing would come out but a blubbery squeak. That present turned out to be the camera I have been coveting for over a year now. I love it so much, I’ve read through the manual.

And then I punched Chris in the arm for making me cry.