From Brett to Me
One of the gifts that Brett gave me yesterday was a towel. It’s a big cream colored towel, thick and terribly soft. It doesn’t sound like a very glamorous gift but I love it. These are the kinds of things that Brett gets for me. A soft, luxurious towel to greet me after a warm bath or a hot shower; a towel so absorbent that I only need to wrap myself in it and I’m dry.
For our first Christmas together he asked me what I wanted, “Anything,” I said. “Anything you might get me would be fine as long as it’s not something completely practical like shoes.”
Little did I know that he had already bought me shoes and they were waiting in the closet. But what shoes! These wonderful, clunky black shoes that kept me firmly on the ground. Heavy soles made for comfort. Sensible shoes designed for sturdy women who want to take on the world! Not for him the skinny straps and tiny heels meant for admiring eyes; he loves me best when I can run and jump and speed ahead of him. He loves me as I am only more so.
Brett buys me gifts because he wants me to travel the world in comfort. He wants me to feel adored even when I’m doing something ordinary. He buys me colorful spatulas to make scraping a bowl a pleasure. He treats me to socks that will keep me extra warm. When I open his gifts, I know that he loves me at the most practical level. That romance, for him, exists even when I’m drying between my toes.
And what did I get him? A miniature fooseball table. I know, I know, I’m lucky that he puts up with me. I got him other things, too, but he’s the gifted gifter in our family and I’m the lucky receiver.
That’s really wonderful.
A gifted gifter is a rarity to be treasured.