For Christmas 2017, I bought my husband, Bubba, a home Pilates reformer machine, and he bought me a block of virtual therapy sessions. Now, before you get all judgy about our 'questionable' gift selections:
Sure, buying his almost-50 year old, premenopausal wife ANY therapy not described using the words “spa” and “treatment” might be Bubba’s not-so-subtle way of saying, “You’re completely fucking crazy. Get help now!” But it isn't, and here's why: I expressly asked for them; I purchased the sessions myself, and —as Spazzie frequently points out— there are times I need a little help (ok, A LOT of excellent, professional-grade help) to work my shit out.
Yes, buying my almost-50 year old husband workout equipment could be me, loudly signaling “Time to get to work, motherfucker; you’re my next ‘home improvement’ project!” Except that a few months ago, Bubba said: “Hey, I want this Pilates machine for Christmas.” Bubba knows exercise is important to health, vitality, and longevity.
He also appreciates that if he kicks it early — and by “early” I mean one fucking second before I do, this Spazzie Girl will follow him to wherever good, ethical atheists go when they die, and haul his peaceful spirit-ass RIGHT THE FUCK BACK!
So what’s the point of this post? To illustrate that sometimes, a gift is just a gift, and the giver isn't necessarily passively-aggressively saying "you suck"; he's whole-heartedly saying "I love you"! Wait, that sounded so much more impactful in my head. Ugh, now I’ve lost the thought. My short-term memory is for shit these days! Anyhow, Happy Christmas, Ya’ll!