(It’s a month before Christmas, and I’ve purchased some gifts for my wife. When the first one arrives, I hide it in my desk drawer, where she promptly discovers it within hours. A few days later, another gift arrives, and I decide to hide both someplace different. The following takes place that evening:)
Wife: “So, where did you hide that other gift?”
Me: “Someplace you’ll never find it!”
Wife: “Is it in the other drawer?”
Me: *sheepishly* “Yes.”
(It’s about three days before Christmas, and an elderly couple is trying to find gifts for their granddaughters. At this point, we’ve run out of some of the product on the sales floor, so I’m filling in girls’ clothes. I’m stocking the shelves, in my store uniform, with two PDA devices with the store logo clipped to my belt!)
Husband: “Why don’t we ask this young lady here for help?”
Wife: “Leave her alone, [Husband]! I don’t think she works here.”
Husband: “But she’s wearing red like the rest of them!”
Wife: “It’s Christmas time! Loads of people are wearing red!”
Me: “Hi, there! I do, in fact, work here! Can I help—”
(I don’t think they hear me.)
Husband: “But she has one of those electric gadgets.”
Wife: “[Husband], don’t you know all the kids carry those fancy phones around?”
Me: “Hello! Can I help you find anything?”
Husband: “See, I told you she works here! We’re looking for matching pajamas for two little girls.”
Me: “Sure, I can show you what we’ve got. What sizes do you need?”
Wife: “Oh, god, [Husband]! I forgot to ask the girls’ sizes!”
Me: “Can you tell me how old they are? With kids’ pajamas, it’s usually pretty easy to estimate the proper size.”
(We found lovely princess pajamas!)
(For as long as I can remember, I have loved a specific Christmas song. One day I’m telling my husband about it.)
Me: “I know it’s weird, but it’s like the holiday season doesn’t really begin until I hear ‘Snoopy’s Christmas.’ I don’t know why. It just isn’t Christmas until someone plays it.”
(The conversation meanders and I don’t think much more about it. About a week later, he gets a package, which he opens to reveal a set of CDs. It’s all the songs by a group called the Royal Guardsmen.)
Me: “What’s this? Who are these guys?”
Husband: “They’re the ones who sing that song.”
(He shows me one of the CDs. Sure enough, there’s “Snoopy’s Christmas” on the list. I’d never known who actually sang the song and, for whatever reason, never investigated the matter. I look to my husband for an explanation.)
Husband: “Now, it can be Christmas whenever you want!”
(My husband is very fond of my breasts, and often has an adverse reaction when I get dressed.)
Me: “Honey, can you give me a hand with my bra?”
Husband: “Oh, all right…”
(He does.)
Husband: “Now you can never claim that I don’t love you.”
Me: “Why not?”
Husband: “I helped you put your boobs away.”
(We have a wide variety of unused Christmas decorations inherited from my husband’s mother. One Christmas, my husband decides to set up our nativity scene, but realizes that several pieces were damaged during a recent garage roof collapse and decides to improvise. There’s a dinosaur attending in the place of a camel, and the three wise men were replaced with Darth Vader wrapped in Christmas lights, an inflatable Santa Claus that’s twice the size of the rest of the display, and a light-up Jesus.)
Me: “Why is Jesus attending his own birth?”
Husband: “I like how you look at this display and that is the only thing you’re questioning.”
