The Torturous Ways of the former Carol Q

As of 7:30 this morning there is a large blanket-covered box in my living room that contains my birthday present. I am not allowed to look at it or touch it and it is driving me insane. Seriously insane. My brain may explode before I’m able to open it.

It all started last week when Carol posted on Facebook that my birthday present had been delivered by UPS and that she was upset because it was broken in two spots. Immediately my brain began to turn over and over thinking of any item that I had mentioned as a possible Christmas/Birthday present that could be broken in two places. Since I had asked mainly for clothes, Wii games, a life-size cutout of Lindsay Lohan, and world peace (of course), I couldn’t really imagine what she could possibly have gotten for me that could break. I pontificated on it for a few hours, but without even seeing the box I was really just grasping at straws. But, Carol loves to torture me and by simply posting that comment on Facebook she knew that it would drive me nuts thinking about what she got me. She is evil like that.

Eventually, I forgot about the entire thing and really paid it no mind. As much as I love Christmas and opening presents I love to be surprised as well. The detective in me wants to look at every wrapped box under the tree and, without touching it, attempt to guess what it is. I will walk through an entire day in a haze as I think about what could possibly be under that tree in those boxes, but If someone were to try to tell me what was in them I would stop them immediately. As much as I want to guess and be right, I love the surprise of opening the present and seeing what’s inside. In fact, as a kid I never even once tried to look through my parent’s house to find where the Christmas presents were hidden and what they were. Okay, I might have tried once, but I had to stop because I didn’t want to ruin Christmas morning for myself.

This present, however, is a different story. While we were eating dinner on Wednesday night we heard the doorbell ring and Carol ran to the living room as she saw the UPS truck on our street. Because she wanted to get back to the table to eat, she simply set the box in the living room, draped a large pink blanket over it, and let it sit for the duration of our dinner. Knowing that it was a present for me, I kept teasing that I was going to go into the living room and look at it. Carol, however, knew better than that and trusted that I wouldn’t go anywhere near it for fear of ruining the surprise. She also knew though that having my birthday present out in the open like that would drive me insane. I wouldn’t look at it, but I would really want to. Really really want to.

That evening after we put Ben to bed I had to avoid the living room entirely. It wasn’t because Carol hadn’t yet put the present away (which she seemed in no hurry to do), but because I had been in there earlier, seen the shape of the box, and my mind began racing again. I knew that there was something in there that could have been broken in two spots, but given the size of the box I couldn’t think of anything in there that could break. I now had three big pieces of the puzzle: 1) the size of the box, 2) it was a breakable item, and 3) my preexisting Christmas list, yet I could not even venture a guess as to what was in there. I knew that if I sat in the living room watching TV with the torturer herself I would do nothing but look at that box and think of what was inside.

The good news was that I would be able to go to work on Thursday and she would have a chance to either wrap it or move it to another place that wasn’t in my direct sight all of the freaking time. The bad news is that due to the icy road conditions on Thursday, that didn’t happen. Ben’s school was canceled and I was going to work from home all day while simultaneously entertaining him. Now, if I had bought a present for Carol and had left it sitting under a blanket in the living room I would have been kind enough to remove it from its very accessible location prior to her spending an entire day at home. Do you think Carol the Hun would be kind enough to do that for me? Nooooooooooo! Rather than at least moving it into another room where I wouldn’t be forced to stare at all day long, she instead left it right where it was and set up a series of booby-traps so that she would know if I had touched it or not. Damn her! Damn her to hell!

All day. ALL DAY LONG I was forced to be in the same house with that thing just sitting there taunting me. Mocking me. Now, if the present were wrapped and under the tree or in a closet somewhere I would find it acceptable. That is the normal course of action that you take with a present that you don’t want someone to see. I accept the sanctity of the wrapping paper and the paper thin force field of trust and honesty that it provides. What you DON’T do is leave the freaking present out in the open for the recipient to look at all day long and wonder what in the hell could be inside. You just don’t do it. It’s not fair! And as much as it drove me nuts I knew that all I had to do was to walk over and take a peak under that blanket and I would know for sure what it was putting my anxiety to rest. But I just couldn’t. And I won’t.

Hopefully when I get home tonight the present will either be hidden or wrapped and under the tree. That would be the kind thing to do. My lovely wife, however, is probably enjoying my struggle too much to want to do the kind thing. In fact, after reading this she will more than likely leave it there all weekend just to get under my skin. She may even leave it there until the night before my birthday when she’ll conveniently decide to wrap it up and present it to me the next day. Or she may even just say “screw you, the blanket is the wrapping paper” and leave me under extreme duress for the next 12 days. She can be so very, very cruel.

The funny thing is that this cruelty is one of the many reasons why I love her so much.

Thanks for reading.