I thought I had a great idea for Valentine’s Day. It was a gift that took planning, perseverance, and a good bit of skill. Not only that, it was something that would be useful, decadent and unique. Apparently the unique part is what got me in trouble.
I mean, seriously, not everyone can go out into the field, sit for several hours without moving, endure a cottontail in distress call long enough to drive most people crazy, and come home with enough pelts to piece together a heart-shaped red fox fur blanket. Thoughtful, romantic and functional, all at the same time, right?
Apparently, wrong. It’s a good thing I didn’t actually succeed in getting enough foxes to make one. As a matter of fact, I didn’t get any foxes. But I tried, and I was under the impression that it’s the thought that counts. When I told my lovely wife that’s what I had intended to give her for Valentine’s Day, she laughed. It wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. Lord knows what her reaction would have been if she’d opened a box and pulled the fox blanket out of it.
I really thought that blanket would have been perfect. It would have been pretty, like a Valentine’s Day present should be, and it would have been functional. Not only that, it would have shown her on a primal level I was the manly man she wanted, because I’d have proven I had the skills needed to hunt and gather the things we need for our proverbial cave. Maybe the fact that I had shown I DON’T have those skills is what she was laughing about.
There was some good news in this Valentine’s Day fiasco, though. When she saw my dejected look brought on by her laughing about my idea, she gave me a big hug and said, “If you’d given me a nice, fuzzy fox-fur blanket, I wouldn’t need you to keep me warm, now, would I?”