Just Ducky

You know I love the Rickster with all my heart. The man is so wonderful, except for--giving gifts. He doesn't get it. I don't know if it's because his mom died when he was five and he was raised with two burly brothers in a house with an absentee, traveling father or if he's just genetically challenged. Either way, it must be revealed that he lacks in the quality of gifts, not in the intent.

He wants to be a gift giver. He shouldn't, however! When I say, "You shouldn't have!" I mean it! Don't EVER buy me anything, honey. Give money. Give gift cards. Give time. Anything but choosing the actual gift.

It started thirty-two years ago when I met him. The first gift he "bought" me was a leather coat that I picked out, put on my charge card, and wrapped up for myself. He did nod when I told him I liked it. He said, "Get it." He always tells me to get whatever I want. It's safer that way. Totally. Absolutely.

One of the first gifts he ever gave me that he picked out was a tow rope. For Valentine's Day. To his credit, it was red. We lived in Idaho where snow and mud are deep and dangerous in February. He thought it would be helpful and safe for me to have a tow rope in my trunk in case I ever slid off the road and needed to be pulled out of the ditch. Seriously. He was concerned for my welfare. Such a guy.

The next gift was a garage door opener. The only problem was I thought the heavy box wrapped under the tree was a set of china.  He was crushed when I wasn't thrilled. I try to look appreciative. I try!

The florist box full of plastic roses bought off a TV ad was the worst. They cost $39.99, smelled like rubber, and we didn't have $39.99 to our name. Especially not for synthetic roses. I made him send them back. He was a little crushed.

So yesterday he came home from work with a "surprise" for me. He'd been to a yard sale during his lunch time. He found these wooden ducks. They had artificial flowers tied around their long necks. I cut the flowers off before I took the picture. I'm sorry I did. It really added to the effect.

He was so happy. Thirty years ago I collected ducks. It was the eighties, people. Forgive me. I did like ducks then. And Rick is a hunter and he used to shoot ducks. So he believed in his cute, cuddly heart that I'd be ecstatic about those foul fowl.

I teased him that we could burn them in the fire pit. (I wasn't entirely kidding.) Lola is afraid of them. He thought I would use them in the house some where. That isn't going to happen. They are a little like garden gnomes, but not nearly as kitchy. I'm sure he found them in Sun City at some snow birds clear-out-the-junk sale.

Thank you, Rick. Thank you for the ducks. I have spray painted the ducks and I will do something avant garde with them. I swear I will. I shall reveal the finished product at a later date. Stay tuned. I will make them into something artsy and fun. I will! It's the thought that counts, big guy. Honest!