Christmas in January...kind of.

Since Halbastram and I were unfortunately a part of the crapfest that is the recession, Christmas for us was a little light. And by a little light, I mean that I had him pick out his gift at a store that my father had given me a gift card to for my birthday, which was a month earlier. And I...well, I got nothing. It's not Halbastram's fault. Up until recently, I was the only bread-winner so funds were light. Even though I encouraged him to dip a little into our meager funds and buy me a magazine if that's all we could afford, he declined, saying that perhaps we could celebrate Christmas at a later time, when things were more on the up and up, even if that ended up being in April or May.

At the present-opening festivities at my mother's place, after everyone had opened their gifts, I noticed a card with my name on it, written in the indecipherable handwriting that could only be Halbastram's. Curious, I opened it and read it (slowly, as he writes everything in that "doctor's signature" scribble). In the card, he expressed sadness over not being able to get me anything for Christmas, but felt happy that he had the greatest gift in the world: being able to wake up next to me everyday. Swoon-fest, indeed. He usually shies away from the sweet sappies (being such a dude and all), so it was nice to read that.

Fast-forward three days ago. Feeling excited that my bus training was almost over, I decided to treat myself to some clearance rack gift card shopping. In my family (as in others, I'm sure), as you get older and move further away, the relatives who don't forget about you entirely will more than likely have no clue as to what to get you for Christmas. As a result, I received a ton of gift cards. And I hate carrying around gift cards with ridiculous balances on them, like $1.62. So I decided to hit up the clearance racks to find crap that will help clear up my wallet and clutter my home.

While at a department store I'm not fully fond of, after purchasing some warm and cuddly socks that looked like they were a returned Christmas gift, I ventured to the men's department to find Halbastram some fancy underwear. It's a tradition between us: I buy him random boxers that I see in stores that I frequent, he wears them for a few months, and then they get lost in the back of the drawer behind his more comfortable discount store brands. I find a very ridiculous pair with a little man on a horse playing polo and decide that yes, this will be his official Christmas present. And then I see it, a couple of displays over: The Simpsons Scene-It Game. Seeing as how we're both HUGE Simpsons fans, I decide that it's a gift we can both enjoy and possibly get better use out of (sorry, Mr. Jockey).

So I get it home, wrap it in my Disney Princess Christmas paper (a gift from a former co-worker...) and present it to him. He opens it, I say "Merry Christmas" and he says "thank you." Then, after a pause, he goes, "you're still waiting for a gift, aren't you?" I tell him not to worry about it: that case of beer he bought me the day before works just fine. We have a good laugh and I prepare dinner. The recession may have made gift-giving light, but it hasn't trampled on our psyche. I'm just glad it's almost over.