It’s More Blessed to Give

Posted: November 3, 2011 in Humor
Tags: , , , , ,

I love giving my wife gifts. It has been a practice of mine since before we were married. My favorite occasions for surprising her with something special are no occasion at all. Just because it’s Tuesday is good enough for me.

From a trip to Hawaii to silly cards, I think my favorite gift was one I was able to deliver during her bridesmaids’ luncheon.

When we met I was working as a close-up magician in a number of clubs. Magic was in its heyday and when I wasn’t performing I was working in a small magic shop. And it was through a special customer that I was able to deliver one of the most unusual gifts to ever grace that particular luncheon venue.

As the big day approached, I wondered if there was some special gift I could deliver to the event location as a special surprise. The manager said that would be perfectly acceptable, and they would make sure it was delivered at the appropriate moment.

But what to send?

Flowers seemed somehow blaze since the room would already be decorated with some beautiful arrangements.

Jewelry was a possibility, but I has just given her a bracelet and had a string of pearls for her as a wedding  present.

And a card didn’t seem very appropriate. I was always leaving cards in her car.

Then HE walked into the magic shop.

Why didn’t I think of him before? HE could help me out.

One of the magic store regulars was in the perfect business, and he assured me that I was not cutting things too close. He had exactly what I needed and he would even make all the necessary arrangements. So we discussed the details, we discussed certain important color preferences, and he smiled at the prospect of playing a part in her big day.

I thanked him, gave him a ten percent discount on his purchases, and sighed contentedly. This was going to be great. A truly unique gift for a truly unique woman.

As the big day drew closer I could hardly contain myself. And the more I thought about it the more certain I was that this could be THE gift. The one that set the tone for our life together.

On the eve of the big day, I went fishing with a friend. We were going to a lake on the North Carolina/Virginia border overnight, otherwise I would tell her about the gift. I knew myself well enough to know I would spill the beans. So I told her a few days ahead of time and she was fine with it. “You wouldn’t be able to go anyway, and even if you did, it would just be us girls, my mother, and your mother. Just try to be back by four or so and we’ll go out for supper.”

That was fine by me.

About half way to the lake, I told my fishing buddy about the gift.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

I assured him I was. He shook his head and said, “You are now officially the bravest man I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something because my dad’s got a purple heart.”

We fished that afternoon and evening, woke early the next morning and fished until 11 a.m. Then, on the ride home, I checked my watch at 1:00 and said, “It should be happening right about now.”

I was right.

As I heard the story later that day and again over supper, my wife said the luncheon was beautiful. The bridesmaids, mothers, and assorted other female guests were having a great time when the doors to the banquet facility opened, and HE walked in.

No…not a Chippendale dancer.

Guppy the Clown.

Yes, it was Guppy the Clown in all his clown glory. Bright hair, big shoes, mismatched clown clothes, and calliope music issuing from his giant clown pants. As I heard it later that afternoon and again at supper, at first everyone thought he was in the wrong place. Then he walked over and called my future wife by her name, congratulated her on the upcoming wedding, and proceeded to make balloon animals, balloon tiaras, and other balloon treasures for everyone at the table.

It was the best $50 I ever spent.

When I heard the story later that day, and again at supper, my wife said her mother was mortified. She said that my mother was mortified. And when I asked if she was mortified, she just looked at me, let the slightest trace of a grin flicker across her lips, and shook her head.

Thirty years later when the story is told and someone asks if she was mortified, she just looks in my direction, lets the slightest trace of a grin flicker across her lips, and shakes her head.

OK, she rolls her eyes too.

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