For my 39th birthday, I wasn’t expecting anything extravagant.
My husband, Eric, had already asked what I wanted, and I told him flowers and dinner would make me happy.
Instead, he handed me a small gift bag before leaving for work.
Inside was a bottle of shower gel.
Not even my favorite kind.
It was a strong vanilla scent I had complained about more than once.
I stared at it, trying not to look disappointed.
After he left, disappointment turned into anger.
We were doing fine financially. He hadn’t forgotten my birthday. So why would he choose something so random?
Eventually, I started crying, poured the gel down the sink, and tossed the bottle into the bathroom trash.
That evening, Eric came home unusually excited.
“So,” he asked, “did you finish the bottle?”
I frowned.
“I poured it out.”
His smile vanished.
“You what?”
He rushed to the bathroom, dug through the trash, and grabbed the empty container.
Then he carefully removed the bottom label.
Hidden underneath was a tiny sealed envelope.
Inside was a handwritten note and two plane tickets for a weekend trip to Chicago, where we had spent our first anniversary.
I just stood there.
Eric laughed nervously.
“The bottle was supposed to be annoying enough that you’d use it quickly and find the surprise.”
I started laughing through my tears.
He had remembered exactly which fragrance I hated.
Just not for the reason I thought.
