If you have ever read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, you will understand what I mean when I say that my love language is “gifts.”  I’m not going to recap the whole book, but his theory is that there are five “love languages” and we all have a primary and secondary one.  If you can figure out what love language your partner speaks, you now know how to make him/her happy in the way he/she appreciates.

As I stated, my love language is gifts.  (I do not have time or space to address the fact that this could possibly make me look superficial. I choose to believe that if there is an entire theory built around gifts, this validates me.)   Unfortunately, the problem with equating the giving and receiving of gifts with love is that you are almost always disappointed. This is why I don’t get that excited about my birthday or Christmas. Because quite honestly, there is a good chance I am not going to like what you get me.  Don’t feel bad:  it’s me, not you.  My standards are just too high.  (Okay, that part might make me look superficial.)

On the other hand…sometimes certain gifts are just universally bad ideas. That necktie made completely out of rhinestones….is your wife a country singer? A professional ice skater? A “dancer?” If the answer is no to these questions, then keep looking.

What about a ruby-red slipper that holds rings and plays Somewhere Over the Rainbow? Well, does your wife have a particular fondness for the Wizard of Oz?   Is she a fortune-teller by day and needs a place to store all her rings at bedtime?  No?  Then maybe pass on this one.

If you go to Greece for a work trip and you see a door plaque that says “Welcome to Thessaloniki,” think about whether or not the recipient LIVES in Thessaloniki.  If the answer is no, then this is not a good souvenir.  Ask yourself, would I bring my cousin who live in Thessaloniki a sign that says “Welcome to Downers Grove” for his house?  No. No you wouldn’t.  Move along now.

Not that I have any experience receiving gifts like these.

Which brings me to this truth: It is rare that your significant other shares the same love language as you.  I am sorry, it is just a fact.  For example, Ted’s love language is Physical Touch. (This is NOT the same thing as sex. Otherwise I can probably guarantee that it would be EVERY man’s love language.) In the early years, oftentimes when we were walking together, if I stopped too fast he would run into me.  There were times where I would have to point out to him that our couch was a sectional, not a cozy chair-and-a-half.  Learning each other’s language took a long time to work out in our marriage.  I will say that Ted has done a tremendous job of trying to learn what I like and paying attention.  It did not start out that way, however, and occasionally he has a misstep.  But because he tries so hard, I, on occasion, allow him to invade my personal space.

When we first got married Ted worked for a jewelry chain.  He would consistently get me pretty things, but did not understand that when your love language is gifts, you like to get exactly what you want.  Yes, I know it sounds selfish and unappreciative. I can’t help it.  It is my curse.  I do not like surprises.  For example, if I say “I want plain diamond stud earrings” do not answer “I have something better in mind.” I repeat, do not say this.  Because when I open the box of large dangly clusters of flowered-shaped diamond earrings it will be hard for me to contain my disappointment.  Believe me, I know this makes me sound like a horribly unappreciative person.  But why make things complicated for yourself when I tell you EXACTLY what I want?  If you told me that you wanted a pari of Levi 501’s I would not say to you, “Don’t worry I have a better idea,”  and get you bedazzled boot-cut jeans.  Pay attention to the cues, people.

One year he got me a gorgeous sapphire ring.  I guess I should say he PAID FOR a gorgeous sapphire ring that I picked out.  But somehow he Ted-ified it by having some strange numerical inscription engraved inside that even he could barely explain.  It was the year we met + our wedding date x the years we were married + my current weight.  Not really, but I think the guy was trying to solve the equation from Good Will Hunting in there.

This might have been the same year he got me the birthday cake oozing with strawberry filling.  I don’t like fruit in my cake.  I like chocolate.  If you are married to me you might notice this.  Even my kids were like “Why did you get that?  Mom hates fruit in her cake.”  Guess who ate my birthday cake?  The person WHO LIKES FRUIT IN THEIR CAKE.   (In hindsight I am wondering if this was a “mistake” after all.)

The idea for this blog came to me when someone asked me about Christmas stockings.  Opening my stocking was the highlight of Christmas morning when I was growing up. I loved spilling out the random goodies: toothpaste, lip gloss, marbles, chocolates, all sorts of fun trinkets.  The more the better; it didn’t have to be fancy or expensive. When Ted and I got married, we started a tradition of filling each other’s stockings.  It took a while for Ted to understand how stockings worked.

I have divided the past 20 years into three separate eras:

Stage One: The “Meager and Confused” years.  If I remember correctly, there were maybe three things inside my stocking and they were the kind of gifts that should have been under the tree.  Maybe a CD and some gloves.  And they were WRAPPED.  No no no. That is not how stockings work.  I referred him to his own stocking that I had filled, overflowing with socks, coffee, travel tissues, and flashlights.

Stage Two: The “Office Depot” years.  Quantity went up,  but quality went down.   This was when he would get all my stuffers from, you guessed it, Office Depot. This is not a joke.  I must have asked for a paper clip one day and he never forgot.  I grew to dread his Christmas Eve jaunt to the local office supply store.  This finally ended when I couldn’t possibly need anymore rubber bands and post-it notes.  I actually think this was one of the main factors for me to quit working;  it was the only way I could think of to get him to stop getting me office supplies.  Why, you ask, didn’t he just look inside his own stocking the first year, the second year, or even the THIRD YEAR and realize that’s how you fill a stocking?  I don’t know, readers.  I don’t know.  It is a question I have asked myself many times. If you find out please let me know.  I don’t know why it took so many years of guidance.

However, now I will say that we have arrived at Stage Three: The “Fruitful Years.”   In fact, I think he does a better job filling my stocking than I do filling his.  There is a great assortment of things inside and I am always impressed and happy to open it on Christmas morning.

Look, I’m not going to get into the entire theory of love languages.  If you’re interested read the book.  But I will tell you that it is rare that you are lucky enough to find someone who has the same one as you. Which means until the two of you learn to speak each other’s language, don’t be surprised if you are presented with a God-awful strawberry-filled cake while he is trying to hug you from behind as you brush your teeth.

Not that that ever happened to me.

Above left: Dorothy’s slipper that plays Somewhere Over The Rainbow and holds rings.  Not a great choice for a person who is lukewarm about The Wizard of Oz.

Above right: The infamous jeweled tie.  Ted says he was talked into this by a vendor at a craft fair.  I believe him.

Below: This was my Mother’s Day gift one year.  As you can see from the picture above, this is a giant check a la Publisher’s Clearing House.  Because just what you want when you are a stay-at-home mom is to be reminded how much you could be getting paid if you were working.  Side note about me...If I don’t like a gift from Ted I will immediately ask how much it was to see how mad I should be.  This fake check made me very, very mad.