The Blue Box

I pulled a man trick and totally forgot about my anniversary this year. Tony was the one who reminded me. It also happened to fall on Father's Day, which I also kinda forgot. I did remember to send my Dad a gift, but it somehow slipped my mind that Tony is and has been a Dad for the past four years.

Even now, it still seems strange to me that we're parents, that we're responsible for raising another human being. It's also pretty scary when I stop to think about it. But after living together for seven years before deciding to have a family, it's sometimes hard to believe it actually happened.

And as wonderful as family life is, it often contributes to the already out of control daily guilt I feel, adding extra pressure to remember more holidays and momentous occasions. It also doesn't help that since giving birth, my brain is like a Jenga game; with each important date, fact, or other thing I have to remember, something else slips out.  Like my anniversary and (Tony's) Father's Day present.

So, when hubby arrived home from work a few weeks ago with a beautiful, rather large Tiffany-esque box tied up with a white ribbon, I can't imagine why I automatically assumed it was some kind of "just because" gift for moi.

Maybe it was the way he set it down with such flourish on top of the bookshelf, turning to face me expectantly. The way a husband might had he decided to bring home a lovely gift for his wife out of the blue.

After a few seconds of him looking at me rather eagerly, I finally demanded to know what was in the box. And annoyingly, he totally ignored my question and started telling me what sounded like a well-rehearsed story. It went something like this:

One evening back in 1954, a young man out in Alberta did a very bad thing. He attacked and ended up killing another person. Upon realizing what he'd done, he fled the scene of the crime, jumped into his 1950 Ford model car and drove away, either not realizing or not bothering to wipe the other person's blood off his hands. Eventually, however, the blood left behind on the Ford's steering wheel was used as evidence to convict the man of murder.

I stood dumbfounded at this, finally asking what this horrible yet apparently random story had to do with anything.

Well, hubby tells me, the steering wheel of that Ford model car is in the blue box!!

To Be Continued