The Diamond Edition

Or, How to Ruin Christmas with a Vacuum Cleaner

Yesterday, my husband informed me that all of my allergy problems could have been avoided if I'd just kept my diamond.

For context, we'd just left an appointment with my allergist, who had explained that living in a house full of carpet probably wasn't doing me any favors.

And there he was, sitting beside me, suggesting that the solution to my medical problems had been in my possession ten years ago.

I just stared at him.

Now, before you start wondering why a diamond would have anything to do with allergies, I should probably explain.

But to fully appreciate the spectacular absurdity of that conversation, we need to go back about ten years.

Actually, let's go back a little further.

Because when it came to gift giving in our marriage, I was the GOAT.

I genuinely loved finding the perfect gift for my husband. In fact, I got a ridiculous amount of joy out of trying to outdo whatever I'd given him the year before.

One year for our anniversary, I had a wooden sign made with the exact geographical coordinates of the spot where we first met. My husband is a map nerd, so naturally, I didn't tell him what the coordinates meant.

Where's the fun in that?

I gave him the sign and watched as he tried to figure it out. He sat there talking through the possibilities until he finally realized where it was.

That's when I took the sign, turned it over, and showed him what I'd handwritten on the back.

"...where it all began."

With a little heart.

The buildings where we met had actually been demolished, so the place itself didn't really exist anymore. I thought there was something special about preserving the exact spot where our story started.

His response?

"Oh, that's cool. Thank you."

Well, I thought it was romantic. But then again, I'm the sentimental one in this relationship.

For a little background, I can count the number of gifts my husband gave me on one hand.

Actually, less than one hand.

Now, before you start thinking I'm some materialistic woman who expected extravagant gifts for every occasion, let me explain.

I didn't need expensive jewelry or elaborate presents. My husband was the one providing for our family, and I reminded myself of that whenever the holidays rolled around. Gifts were extra.

But did it hurt a little that every Christmas, birthday, and Mother's Day came and went without so much as a small gift?

Of course it did.

Eventually, though, it just became normal.

I was the one who made Christmas magical. I shopped, planned, wrapped, and made sure everyone had something special waiting under the tree.

Including me.

Except I was also the one buying my own presents.

I'd pick up things I wanted or needed while shopping for everyone else, wrap them up, put them under the tree, and open them on Christmas morning along with the rest of the family.

Occasionally, I'd even throw in a little performance.

"Awww...how did you know I needed a new hair dryer? Thanks!"

My husband would usually respond with an eye roll, an occasional chuckle, or an enthusiastic "uh huh."

And the following Christmas, we'd do it all over again.

That was our normal.

A few years later, my husband surprised me with what is, to this day, my favorite gift he's ever given me.

A little wooden Advent calendar from Target.

I know. Try to contain your excitement.

But hear me out.

Target had come out with these beautifully designed Advent calendars, and one of them looked like a little Swiss ski chalet. It was adorable, and I wanted it. Badly.

I'd actually gone to our local Target to buy one for myself, but every single one on the shelves was damaged. The roof was made of these tiny wooden logs, all lined up and glued into place.

Cute? Absolutely.

Structurally sound? Not so much.

Every chalet I found had logs that were either broken or missing entirely.

So I gave up.

Fast forward to Christmas morning, and much to my surprise, I actually had a present to open.

And there it was.

My little Swiss ski chalet.

I was ridiculously excited. But what made it even better was what my husband told me afterward.

He'd gone to SIX different Target stores looking for one that wasn't damaged.

Six.

Now, I don't know about your husband, but mine wasn't exactly the kind of man who enjoyed wandering around Target. Or shopping in general, for that matter.

Yet he'd driven from store to store, encountering the same broken little roofs I had, until he finally found one that was completely intact.

That Advent calendar wasn't expensive. It wasn't fancy. It certainly didn't come in a little blue box.

But he'd noticed something I wanted, remembered it, and gone out of his way to find it for me.

And that meant everything.

For once, I felt like he really saw me.

Honestly, I thought maybe we were turning a corner.

As it turned out, I was wrong.

A few years later, we were walking into a store as a family when, for reasons I still can't fully explain, I decided to ask my husband what he was getting me for Christmas.

And much to my surprise, he actually had an answer.

"A diamond."

My older child was immediately excited.

Me? I was suspicious.

Very suspicious.

See, at this point I'd been married to this man for over ten years. I knew what I was working with.

First of all, my husband was not a man who enjoyed spending money. And diamonds? Those cost money.

Second, there was absolutely no way he would walk into a jewelry store and purchase something that expensive without knowing exactly which one I wanted.

And finally, IF, by some miracle, he'd managed to overcome those first two obstacles and actually bought me a diamond, there was one thing I knew for certain.

He would NEVER tell me about it ahead of time.

He'd keep that shit a surprise.

So naturally, I had a question.

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. I got you a diamond."

Uh-huh.

Sure you did.

Christmas morning arrived, and when it was finally my turn to open my "diamond," all other gift-opening activities came to a screeching halt.

My oldest child was practically vibrating with excitement. Everyone wanted to see what Dad had gotten Mom.

My husband pointed toward a box.

A very large box.

Now, when I tell you this box was approximately the size of my youngest child, I am not exaggerating. It was easily four feet long, three feet wide, and weighed approximately eleven thousand pounds.

Okay, maybe not eleven thousand. But I couldn't move the damn thing.

I looked at the box.

Then I looked at my husband.

He was grinning from ear to ear.

And that's when I knew, beyond any reasonable doubt, that there was no actual diamond anywhere in that box.

But here's the thing. My husband looked genuinely excited. Like he'd just pulled off the most spectacular Christmas surprise in the history of Christmas surprises.

And I was trying desperately not to be a complete skeptic.

So, with the entire peanut gallery watching, I sat down beside this enormous, immovable object and started unwrapping.

As I pulled away the wrapping paper, the lettering on the side of the box started to appear.

KIRBY.

I stopped.

Slowly, I turned and looked at my husband with what I can only imagine were absolute daggers in my eyes.

He was still smiling.

"It's the DIAMOND Edition!"

Oh.

My.

God.

This man had actually done it.

He'd told me he was getting me a diamond for Christmas, and technically, he hadn't lied.

He'd gotten me a vacuum cleaner.

A Kirby Diamond Edition vacuum cleaner.

I opened the box, and there it was in all its silver glory.

Now, I feel the need to pause here and explain a couple of things, because I can already hear some of you saying, "But didn't you want a Kirby?"

Yes. Yes, I did.

We'd had a Kirby salesman come to our house and demonstrate one of their vacuums, and I'd been impressed. I'd even mentioned wanting one.

But the model I'd seen was brand-new and cost somewhere around $1,500.

The one my husband had just presented to me?

Well, that was a different story.

The Kirby Diamond Edition was manufactured between 2003 and 2006.

And this was Christmas 2016.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen.

Not only had my husband given me a vacuum cleaner for Christmas, he'd given me a roughly ten-year-old, refurbished vacuum cleaner.

And he'd called it a diamond.

Now, I don't know about you, but I feel like there are a few unwritten rules when it comes to buying your wife a Christmas present.

Rule number one: A vacuum cleaner is probably not your best option.

Rule number two: If you decide to ignore rule number one, perhaps consider purchasing one that wasn't manufactured a decade earlier.

And rule number three: Under absolutely no circumstances should you tell your wife you're buying her a diamond when what you're actually buying her is a refurbished household appliance.

Just a thought.

My daughter was every bit as insulted as I was.

My husband, meanwhile, still seemed pretty pleased with himself.

Apparently, he thought this was hilarious.

And you know what? I can be funny, too.

So I chuckled.

"Oh, that's cute. I bet you'll think it's just as cute when you're lugging it back to the UPS Store to return it."

"But I thought you wanted a Kirby."

"I did. A NEW one. Preferably the one I'd actually gotten to use during the demonstration."

Somewhere in that conversation, I'm fairly certain the phrase "funny ha-ha" made an appearance.

And I believe my final contribution to the discussion was something along the lines of:

"How funny is it now?"

Needless to say, that man ended up packing approximately forty pounds of vacuum cleaner, attachments, and assorted machinery back into its box and hauling the whole damn thing to UPS.

Turns out, I can be funny, too.

That was the last Christmas gift my husband ever gave me.

And the story has lived on in infamy ever since.

Over the years, we've told it to friends, usually other married couples. Without fail, the wives tend to look horrified, while the husbands initially laugh. Right up until they notice their wives aren't laughing with them.

My husband, however, still thinks it's hilarious.

Which brings us back to yesterday.

We'd just left my allergist's office, where I'd been told that living in a house full of carpet probably wasn't doing my allergies any favors.

And that's when my husband decided to offer his professional medical opinion.

"If you'd kept your diamond, you wouldn't have all these allergy problems."

He laughed.

I turned and stared at him.

Not a word.

Just laser eyes aimed directly at the side of his head.

He laughed some more and offered to let me punch him in the arm.

And I sat there thinking, Are you fucking kidding me?

Ten years.

TEN YEARS.

And this man is still making jokes about the damn vacuum.

So, gentlemen, consider this your official public service announcement.

If your wife tells you she'd love a new vacuum cleaner, by all means, buy her one.

But maybe don't wrap up a decade-old refurbished model, put it under the Christmas tree, and tell her you bought her a diamond.

Because you might find yourself hauling forty pounds of machinery to the UPS Store.

And ten years later, she might still be giving you the look.

You know the one.

The one that says, I'd be acquitted by a jury of twelve women.

You've been warned.