I knew the exact moment I wanted to break up with the Approval Whore.
Oh sure, there was a long demise marked by countless wincing "Really? Seriously?" incidents and the slow, inexorable death of love. But there was one incident from which she never recovered.
I'd helped her come up with perfect Christmas gifts. We paid particular attention to her mother and to Joyce, her new friend at work. The AW really wanted to nail their gifts. She bought and rebought them, and over the months before Christmas I provided thoughtful feedback and suggestions during our multiple shopping excursions. This is what partners do.
And then Christmas morning, I unwrapped my own gifts.
"Really? Seriously?" I thought.
They were curious. I remember ugly towels that had the approximate texture of a burlap bag containing crushed gravel. I remember a wooden ship with a broken mast that had been glued back together. And I remember these were the highlights.
And then she lamented that Tuesday Morning hadn't had much of a selection yesterday. Yesterday, of course, had been Christmas Eve—approximately three months after she'd started Christmas shopping. And Tuesday Morning, for those of you blessed with partners who don't put a thousand times more thought and planning into co-workers than into you, is a dumpy discount store. Everything doesn't cost 99Â¢, but most things there should.
Not really wanting any monuments to how little she cared about me, after she left I threw everything out. She never noticed.
I tell you this story because for Christmas 2008, six years later, Blondage gave me a present in a plastic Tuesday Morning bag. And let me tell you, the parody is one helluva lot funnier than the original.
Faith in you people runs strong in my circle:
Blondage says (8:45 AM):
God, I hope your readers know what a parody is