Gifts For Me. Gifts For Them.

The other day my husband was late coming home from work.  I texted him.

"Where are you?"

"I can't tell you.  I'll be home soon."

"What?  Why can't you tell me?"

"You'll see."

I was in the kitchen when he breezed through the door, fists full of shopping bags.  They were not the kind of bags I'm used to seeing coming through my door.  They had strange and exotic names on them, like Dillards.  He ushered me into our room and dumped his bounty on my bed, gesturing like a proud papa.  "For you."

He'd bought me a new summertime wardrobe without telling me anything about it.  And let me tell you, my husband has great taste.  Mostly because he never looks at price tags.  If he likes something, he buys it.  End of story.  He was smart enough to forbid me to look at the price tags of anything now splashed on my handmade bedspread.

An hour later, I asked him to run out and get a small gift for his mother and mine, as they share an important day.  He called me eight times.  EIGHT.  

"Should I get flowers?"

"What kind of flowers?"

"How about a card?"

"No.  Cards are lame."

After he came home with his hard won gifts, I laughed at him.  He can buy me an entire wardrobe without once asking my opinion, but heaven forbid he buy flowers without my approval.