If you are a heterosexual man and you are looking to please your girlfriend or potential girlfriend, I can help you out. I am a fabulous girlfriend. I'll just come right out and say it. Why? Because all those things that girls expect that guys freak out over, well, I understand that it doesn't really matter in a relationship. Things like birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine's Day, hell, around here, even Christmas - these are the ways a girl periodically tests her man to see what kind of quality gift-giving he's made of.
Hogwash. What matters is honesty, openness, commitment, togetherness. I understand that, and I don't even blink when I don't get chocolate on Valentine's Day or even a hug and kiss on our anniversary.
My boyfriend has yet to remember my birthday (although one year he came home two days later and said, "You're going to kill me." and I said, "Why?" and he said, "I forgot your birthday" - as if it was news. I said, "I know. But that was two days ago. Why would I kill you now?") or our anniversary, and to him Valentine's Day and Christmas are just ridiculous holidays celebrated by sentimental saps.
I'm ok with that. Of course, a girl can always go for an occasional surprise present, too. But I don't get those either.
No matter. In my entire time with the Boy, I have gotten three - count them: one, two, three presents. That's just under a one-per-year average. The problem is, the first two presents were within the first three months. And the third present is the subject of this post.
Here's my piece of advice to you men. If you don't get your girlfriend presents, if it's really just not your thing, explain that to her calmly and, if she's cool, she'll understand. But then, two or three years later, don't come home with a gift all wrapped up in a pretty bag and say, "Here. I got you something. I was walking by today, I saw it, and I thought of you."
Because then your girl is going to get all excited. I mean, blown away holy-shit-you-didn't-just-surprise-me-with-a-present-did-you excited. Or if you like, wiggling-in-her-seat-clapping-her-hands-like-a-little-kid-on-Christmas excited. Or more simply put: really fucking excited.
So if you let it get to this point - where you haven't bought her anything for years and there you are, out of the blue, smiling with your arm extended while dangling a little bag by your index finger - by all means, just know that she is going to be so thrilled by the precious sound of tissue paper as it is slowly being pulled away to reveal her extraordinary gift wrapped so carefully within. Know that she's going to be imagining great things, as if this one gift will erase all the missed gift-giving opportunities throughout the years. Know that you should seriously weigh the thought of what you get her before getting her something as thrilling as what I received:
A paperweight with a duck inside.
This is not a joke. Three years into the relationship, and he got me a paperweight. A friggin paperweight. With a duck inside.
I've kept the damn paperweight on my desk for almost a year now. I'm not really sure what to think of it. First of all, why the hell did the duck-filled paperweight make him think of me? (This brings up mediocre memories of a boy in middle school that was head-over-heels for me - his best friend told me so - for two years, and he called me "The Duck" because, for some reason, I guess I reminded him of a duck. How exactly that conjured up romantic feelings for him is something I still have yet to understand). Second of all, did he not realize the kind of reception this paperweight would have? Let's look at the facts: He doesn't get me anything for years, literally YEARS. Not for a single, damn holiday. And all that time I'm hearing stories of my sister's husband who, in an attempt to save money on Valentine's Day, made an entire bouquet of hand-colored plastic bendy-straw flowers put together by him when she wasn't around. A big bouquet of 'em. Or another story of a boyfriend who wrote friggin' SONGS to one of my friends because he wanted her to have something special, unique, not available in stores.
So sure, I'm not complaining that instead of getting plastic bendy straw bouquets or love serenades I get a 24/7 fart parade. I accepted that long ago when we decided to move in together. What I am saying here is that all of those moments of holding my breath - of not saying "Jesus Christ, I've only "celebrated" three birthday's with you now, is it really that hard to remember?" and instead just laughing it off (I will take the opportunity to point out that my birthday is very easy to remember - October 8. Oct, like an octagon or an octapus, means eight. So he only has to remember the friggin' MONTH and everything is hey-howdy handy), of getting him presents for Christmas and knowing I wouldn't get anything in return, of seeing the boys in the lingerie shops around Valentine's Day nervously shopping for their girlfriend's panties and thinking how cute it is that they put themselves in such an uncomfortable position for their girl - all of those little moments were somehow all bundled up in that one little tissue-paper filled bag. And that bag suddenly became extremely important. Excessively so.
I think I've been clear : my Boy is not at all romantic. I knew this from the get-go. He told me this on our fourth date when he, in perhaps what was the most romantic thing he has done yet, said, "So, I'm sort of thinking that I want a real relationship with you, something committed and stuff" and then clarified the terms and conditions of our relationship contract. One of said terms was that, hell, he just isn't that romantic of a guy, and it was better that I understand that early on. And knowing this, I still jumped aboard. So I can't be angry that he's not romantic - he was honest about that side of himself from square one.
He thinks boys that make plastic bendy flower bouquets are pansies (not yours specifically, Kari). He whispers nothing in my ear instead of sweet nothings. The romantic way he looked towards the future with me was by suggesting we get a joint bank account.
This is all ok by me. But he didn't have to prove himself to be totally romantically hopeless by means of a pathetic paperweight. Don't all men know that a girl just doesn't want a paperweight? That's something a boss gets a secretary, or a co-worker gets another during "Secret Santa" in the office.
What I am trying to say is that a girl who has no expectations whatsoever is even more floored the moment a gift comes her way. And so at that moment, the gift she receives - whatever it is - better be one helluva gift.
That's my advice to you men. If you're going to get her a paperweight, just don't get her anything at all.
Damn. I am floored by how understanding you are, lee. I'm a guy, and a moderately romantic one, but I have to admit I've forgotten the odd birthday or two, and I'm the one you always see running panic stricken in and out of shops on December 24th. And I've gotten a variety of responses to my charming mixture of unpreparedness and memory lapsification, depending on who's on the receiving end.
Regardless, if I forgot my girl's birthday (or had forgotten the birthday of any girlfriends of the past) not once, not twice, but three motherfucking times in a row... well, I'd expect to find my bed on fire when I came home the next day.
And a duck in a paperweight. Um. The only excuse for that would be his skewed sense of humour which is the primary thing that you love so much about him. Barring that, well, do you mind if I call him stoopid?
Oh, yes, please call him stoopid. Yes, yes. Go right ahead.
I really just don't know what he was thinking. He even sometimes gets upset when he realizes the duck isn't even holding any papers down. As if it were particularly windy in the bedroom (where my desk is).
I must confess to being terrible at gift giving, but your lad takes the cake. A paperweight? Why not a box of Tampons?
No....if you decide to give someone something after a considerable absence, do not give paperweights as they have been implicated in death by spouse beatings wherein said female kills male.
Diamonds anyone?
God, sometimes I just write my posts to laugh at the comments you all contribute afterwards. You had me laughing out loud alone in my room. A box of tampons! Death by paperweight! It's killing me, all of this.
But what I want to know is: how is he making up for this in other ways? Cause I'm not a crazed romantic girl - I'd be shocked and thrilled if actual Valentine's stuff showed up - but I do go in for the small things. And if there aren't any small things - anything at all - plastic bendy straws, or cheapy things that remind of in-jokes, or even just a box of packets of chai (cause he knows how you like your chai lattes) - well, what is he THINKING? How is it possible to be that thoughtless?
A duck paperweight. Tampons would mean he thought you might be out of them, and that would mean thinking.
On the plus side, he can set up the internet connections, and that's good. That's important.
Also, what's the point of coming home with a paperweight wrapped up in tissue paper, in a little blue bag? Where did he get this paperweight that they wrapped it and bagged it so nicely?
And why wait so long?
He makes up for non-gift-giving in other ways: taking me out to dinner an excessive amount, calling me from work when he knows I'm sick, and, as you noted, setting up a quality internet connection, among other things. No chai though. Bastard.
As for the tissue paper and bag - Christ, I don't know. Maybe he thought presentation meant something? Or maybe he just thought he should protect the precious paperweight in a lot of tissue paper??
Can I just make a disclaimer? Besides his horrible gift-giving skills, he's a wonderful, wonderful man.
As long as you still think he's wonderful wonderful, that's great. But he is clearly stoopid. There, I said it.
And you try to deny that women end up dating their fathers.
Hi, Dad!
Remember some of his in the past? Cast Iron Skillet, anyone?
And I LOVE the bendy straw flowers. They didn't all make the move, but one did. I think A secretly thinks guys who do that are pansies too, but he did it because he knew it'd send me over the moon.
Now, see, the calling when he knows you're sick? Not so much A.'s forte.
Oh, now, the taking out to dinner is a wonderful thing. That's a gift right there. So $15-30 on my meal a few times a month is about the same as $15-30 spent on flowers a few times a month, or fancy underwear, or (dare I say it?) chai.
Except that I can eat. And I love to eat. Mmm, food.
I do think that boys who do the take-you-out thing don't always realize that it might be cheaper to go the more romantic route - more milage for the buck, I guess - but you know what? It sounds like he likes to give you things that he can share in. Flowers and chocolates and lacy underpants are sort of solo activities - he may get to appreciate them, but not to share them, you know? But going out for a meal, or a show, or a drink, means that you're sharing an experience.
So in that vein, he's giving you shared experiences, and those mean more than just gifts anyway. The memory of your night together will outlast the flowers, etc etc.
I gotta say, though, I'm still perplexed by the wrapping paper. I don't know how he would have made the wrapping into a shared experience, though - maybe bubble wrap? So you could both pop it? I give up.
Kari - aww...A's a sweetie pie and there's no way around it. I wasn't criticizing the flowers, I was saying that I thought that was one of the most romantic things I had ever heard of a boy doing for his girl.
Angel - I agree - the dinners count. As do the occasional trips to various parts of Europe. But about the wrapping paper - I don't think HE was the one who wrapped it. I think they just did it wherever he bought it, you know, to keep the precious paperweight safe, but it ended up looking like a nice little present. Or maybe he said, "Oh, no, wait, could you thrown in a bit more tissue paper for me?" Or something like that. Lord only knows.
OH MY GOD, this is a funny post.