I never know what present to buy for a special occasion. My family can file my subtle hints away for months and, when an occasion rolls around, there it is. My ex also is thoughtful about presents. I envy people like that. My thoughtfulness last Christmas amounted to writing out checks and letting the recipients buy their own damn gifts.

I of course was expecting something more romantic, costing a little more than a cup of coffee. He presented it with a flourish, beaming with pride, and I took it as a joke. I kept asking him where my real gift was. He was disappointed to say the least, but I was so angry about the lawn chair, I shot it with his antique musket. I blew it right off the patio. Looking back, I believe that was the beginning of our long goodbye.

Twenty eight years later, when she finally decided to part with twelve bucks and buy him the real thing, one would have thought she had given him the keys to a new Mercedes. The ten year old thought it was for him when he saw it, and the two of them came close to fistie-cuffs in the middle of the living room. In between his slobbering over the communicator, he thanked me for my complete king size bedroom ensemble. The next day he called and asked me if he could exchange it because it was the wrong size. He will be getting a check next year.