Dear Kelly, I received your letter, which I see you also published as your column last week. I bet the Carpenter loved that. You might want to hang some Mistletoe in your house.
My dear, I’m no marriage counsellor but I think requesting that your spouse be put on my naughty list to teach him a lesson in gift giving crosses a line somewhere, and frankly, I’m not sure how to process this request, on so many levels.
Your letter stirred up a quagmire of holiday conversations in my workshop, but no response was more volatile than when I sought council on the matter with Mrs. Claus. She had plenty to say about spouses making poor gift choices, despite receiving clear hints. You sure tightened her tinsel into knots, ho, ho, ho. Eventually, I turned off my hearing aids because, as you know, in a marriage, sometimes it’s just safer.
I’d like to thank you for having Mrs. Claus drudge up that one Christmas when I did not buy her the Olivia Newton John album she wanted – If You Love Me, Let Me Know – because I knew I’d have to listen to it. Worse, I’d have to hear her attempts at harmonizing with it, and while I love my wife, that woman couldn’t carry a tune in a reindeer feed bucket.
So, I bought her Bad Company’s self-titled album instead, because rock ‘n’ roll is good for the soul. That backfired like Prancer that one time we mixed oats into his feed (he’s gluten free now).
The point is, I realize now that I should have given her the gift she wanted, not the gift I wanted her to have. Mrs. Claus was kind enough to remind me that I have learned this lesson several times since.
I just assumed she’d love a Dewalt tool set with battery packs. Or the garden hose that never knots up. The remote-control monster truck. I regret the nose hair trimmer. Truly, I do.
Kelly, you’re a good person. You have never skipped a year on the nice list, nor has the Carpenter. While I accept your logic for the naughty list designation, I’m concerned that we aren’t giving this man the benefit of the doubt. There is still time. He can shop online. I know he doesn’t know how, but maybe your kids will teach him. Of course, he’d leave it to the last minute, so you’d get the jersey by March. Oh, that’s a problem. Post-season jersey?
To be fair, Kelly, you did knowingly marry a Seahawks fan. I mean, enough said. Arrogance doesn’t begin to describe their flashy uniforms and obnoxious crowd. It could be worse. He could be a Cowboys fan, right? Ho, ho, ho. Those fans are special.
You’re a smart woman. You earn your own money. If you want the jersey, buy it. I suggest you wrap it up with a tag that reads “To Kelly, Love the Carpenter,” and place it under the tree, then act genuinely surprised when you open it. That would mess with him. I’d enjoy that.
I will leave the Carpenter on the nice list for now, but I’ll keep an eye on him. Remember that night he bought you chips and chip dip because you were sad? Or brought lunch to work because you forgot it? How nice was that? Too bad about his team, ho, ho, ho. Take care of each other. Keep laughing.
Merry Christmas to you both.
