Momnesia

"A Christmas Story" Ain't Got Nuthin' on Us!

Augusta, GA. - Scott is a well-known crappy gift giver. Some examples of gifts that he has given me:

• A pair of birds in a giant cage - they were messy, the dog wanted to eat them, and they never shut up! Back to the store they went. $50 wasted, then regained.
  
• A novel he bought under the misconception that I liked "historical romance" (I said "historical fiction," like "Artemesia" and "The Red Tent.") - that turned out to be a ridiculous romance. $13 wasted.
  
• A prenatal massage gift certificate from a company that never could offer a prenatal massage and kept trying to turn it into a facial. The business then went OUT of business. $100 wasted.

Last Christmas, he kept it simple, with a beautiful beaded cocktail dress from a major department store. I loved it, and I told him so, and I wear it every chance I get. $80 well-spent.

This year, he really wanted to be creative... despite the fact that I set up an Amazon and an Etsy wish list, just to break him of this creative-gift-giving habit (and also because pretend shopping costs less than actual shopping - anyone know where to get inexpensive not-ugly curtains?).

And so, because GIANT HINTS could not get through his deflector shields, there was much secretive workshop-type-stuff going on, and I was very, very concerned. But, also, I was excited! There could be inexpensive not-ugly curtains taking shape in there!

Alas, it was not to be. Because one day he forgot to lock the workshop door, and the wind blew it open just as I was getting into my car. There I saw the lamp I had asked him to throw out two months ago... only it was obviously being worked on.

"Honey, you're not refinishing that old lamp, are you?" I asked, apprehensively, not making the connection between my present and some random project he was working on.

"Oh (expletive)," he said, and stomped over to lock the door. That's when I knew. Oh. No. He was not going to - (sigh).

BEHOLD: The Penis Lamp!


You have to understand something about my husband: He gets an idea in his teeth and he shakes it 'til it's dead. He wraps himself in it. It fills his head. He wallows around in it like a pig in mud, and it becomes a part of him. Call it tenacity. Call it stubbornness. Call it insanity. It depends on how you look at it.

This is a great quality for an investigative reporter (see: ANIC corruption). It is a great quality for an activist (see: Aquaduct Park). It is not, necessarily, a great quality in a husband (see: Every argument we've ever had).

"Honey. I do not want a penis lamp in my house," I stated.

"It does not look like a - oh. OH," he said.

Turns out that Scott grew up with this lamp. It was in his grandparents' home for 50 years. So clearly he didn't think of it as phallic while playing in their living room at the age of 7.

"Oh, I guess if I had just gone to Windsor, and come home with a green box,  she'd have been satisfied," he complained to a friend recently. (By the way: Yes)

"Come on, Scott," the friend said. "You never saw a [crude word for penis] when you looked at that?"

"No!" Scott insisted.

"You're an idiot," the friend laughed.

Recently, Scott rediscovered it in their attic and decided to refurbish it for me, thinking I would love the unique design, the history, and the story behind it.

Well, I do love the story! Although, in all fairness, Scott remembers it differently...