The Dastardly Deed

This year, my hubby put coal in my stocking. Actual coal, not that yummy chocolate stuff. He took a charcoal briquette off the BBQ, stuffed it in a sandwich baggie, and shoved it in my stocking.

That wasn't the Dastardly Deed.

He also left a nasty note to Santa pinned to the outside of my stocking. It made libelous, unsubstantiated claims as to the general state of my nature (Naughty) and said I didn't deserve any presents.

That wasn't the Dastardly Deed either.

He said I'd opened a box of Hot Tamales which were already inside my stocking and snitched a few and that justified the note and the coal. A) They were in MY stocking. B) Which meant they were MINE. C) Nobody saw me do anything of the sort.

But none of that was the Dastardly Deed.

No, that happened a little later Christmas morning as I was opening my presents. I picked up one beautifully wrapped box which said it was from Clint. He saw which present I was holding and started laughing.

Not a good sign.

I figured he'd done some silly man-thing and purchased me a Swiffer duster or a brand new box of Clorox wipes for Christmas. (FYI, those only count as presents if you've also attached a $100 gift card to the local spa, bookstore, or shoe store. Preferably all three. Especially if you're lunatic enough to think any cleaning product doubles as acceptable holiday giftage.)

I was wrong.

I ripped off the paper and saw a box with an AWESOME picture of a pewter dragon statue holding a beautiful clock.

He laughed harder.

Naturally, I figured the box wasn't accurately advertising its contents. So, I asked if what was on the outside of the box was what was inside the box. He said it was and laughed even more.

I'm a complete dragon geek, and I got really excited about this gift. It was perfect! I could already see it sitting on my office desk.

Then Clint opened his mouth and sealed his fate by uttering the following words: "I found that in the back of our closet."

Me: "I beg your pardon?"

Clint: "Our closet! When I was putting the luggage away, I found it. It's been there for like two years. Don't you remember? I gave it to you a few years ago for Christmas."

Me: "And you WRAPPED IT AGAIN?"

Clint: "You're surprised, aren't you?"

Me: "Not nearly as surprised as you're going to be when I get my revenge."

Clint: "Revenge for what? It's a perfect gift for you. You love it."

Me: "Wait until I tell my blog readers my amazing husband went Christmas shopping for me IN OUR OWN CLOSET."

You do realize, of course, that this begins a brand new family tradition. No underwear available on Father's Day? Don't worry! Just open that lumpy looking package stashed with your other gifts. Tools disappearing from the garage? Have no fear. Your birthday is a mere ten months away!

*rubs hands together with evil intent*

He should know me better than to start something he didn't want me to finish.