Every Christmas, I search far and wide for the perfect gift for my husband. The criteria is threefold: it has to be something he will use often (if he’s going to think of me when he uses it, then ideally that would be frequently), something he would never get for himself, and (suspenseful music for emphasis, please) something he wouldn’t ever imagine receiving. As I’m sure you know by now, the surprise element is of the essence.
In the ten years that we’ve been together, I’m proud to say I’ve been a successful gift giver multiple times: a recliner he likes to read on every weekend, a suitcase he goes on business trips with, the watch he uses every day, the iPod where he stores all his music, and Tivo, without which he would miss out on critical soccer matches (misery would ensue.)
Yes, I’ve also missed the mark a number of times, presenting him with something I was sure he’d use only to find it in a drawer, forgotten and untouched. By way of example, Luca is a gifted chopper, so I got him a super sharp, amazing looking Japanese knife he liked in concept but then never wielded (which, now that I think of it, is probably a good thing.)
You’ll never guess, though, what is, in my opinion, the best gift I’ve ever given him.
A cylinder shaped, ultra plushy, irresistibly soft, trademarked nap pillow.
When he opened the box it came in he was somewhat dubious. He took it out and petted it. He hugged it to his chest. Then he set it aside. That marked the beginning of a lasting relationship. He not only sleeps with the pillow every night, he actually travels with it. Said pillow (deliriously romantic music, please) even has a name.
I am quite proud of what I put under our tree this year (which of course I can’t disclose here, at least not until after December 25), but I know deep down I risk never coming close to what I accomplished that fine Christmas day.
(Photo from Brookstone; actual image of pillow.)