old guy

I just want to say that I'm smart, yo.

In fact, I'm effing brilliant. And The Guy isn't as smart as I am, even with the testosterone thing. I tricked him. I conned him. I led him down the garden path of trickery, and when he was firm footed on the concrete, I pulled it out from under him. He has met Loki, and she is Woman.

It was The Guy's birthday yesterday. He's 31 now. This means he's older, and he's feeling his age a little bit. It brings him down. He informed me a few days ago that he's going bald. (He's not.) Being a sensitive girlfriend, I promptly told him that if he attempts to comb his hip-length hair over his subsequent bald spot, it's all over between us.

Anyway, it was The Guy's birthday. Yeah, yeah, rah, all that. Some of the people on my notify list -- let me plug that just for a second: notify list! notify list! (thank you) -- offered some great suggestions for presents, both of which I used.

Well, one of which I've used. The other one is pending. I'm thinking Christmas, actually, because otherwise it'll be back to the tootsie rolls lovingly molded into the profiles of 18th century composers. Anyway, back to the story about why I'm so cool and why The Guy is a mark, even if it was his birthday.

So the other day I was sitting harmlessly at my computer doing some sort of computer thing, and The Guy comes bouncing into my room. "I think I figured out what you're getting me," he announced. "Is it about so big, and so big, and can you do this to it?" and he waggled his thumbs in the air.

He meant a Gameboy.

"Shit," I said, because I know how to keep a secret.

His face split into a huge, smug grin, and he did a little capering dance. You know, how chimpanzees dance when they have something -- a stick, a pelt full of ticks, -- that they think you want? Yeah, that one. He did that dance. "I figured it out!" he sang, because he's just that kind of guy.

"You're a schmuck," I said, being the loving girlfriend, "and I hate you."

The Guy did a bit more of the dance, notching up an extra special bonus point on my Irritating Monkeyshit scorecard, then paused to plant kisses on my round, pert little head. "I can't help it that I'm smart and figured it out," he crowed. "I just guessed."

He hasn't been reading my journal, or he would have realized that he had just condemned himself to a bag of tootsie rolls lovingly molded into....

See, here's my thing. What's the point of finding out what a present is before you get it? Doesn't that take all the fun out of the present? It does for me. I like that feeling of surprise that I have when I open a wrapped box and find out what I got. I love the feeling of anticipation I have when I know I'm going to get something. When I'm giving a gift, I like knowing that the person I give the gift to is going to be surprised and delighted when he or she opens it. If there's no surprise, well, what's the point?

Giving a present to someone who knows what's inside is like putting a prostitute through sex ed.*

*This Analogy was brought to you by the kind services of Geometric, of 3Way.)

It's a hard thing to let go of a present idea, especially if it's a decent one and you were so useless coming up with one yourself that you actually had to troll for ideas in a larger people pool. That night, I vengefully created a Master Plan. It's not everybody who can create a Master Plan. It takes someone on the level of a Criminal Mastermind or, say, a Fraternity Boy. Or, like me, a Female.

I am Woman.

Hear me scheme.

A couple of days later I got a box for a Sony Playstation 2 steering wheel, an expensive thingy that works with this game called Gran Turismo 3. This is an impressive piece of work, let me tell you: it vibrates, it resists, it even has pedals so you can brake and accelerate. It's colored blue. I brought home the box, put it in my closet, and then grumpily announced to The Guy that I had gotten his present that day, but what was the point since he already knew what it was?

He did the monkey dance again. "But I don't want you to spend money on me," he protested for show, in the middle of the monkey dance. "What color did you get me? Did you get me a girly color like pink for revenge?"

"What color?" I echoed, blankly. "Uh, blue. It only comes in blue."

"Did you get me a color? Or an Advance?"

I opened my little Asian eyes wide so that, for a change, I could actually see his face in its entirety. "I got you a Logitech. Eh?"

There was a moment of silence while we stared at each other. "Logitech?" he said, thoughtfully. "Then you didn't get me a Gameboy?"

He obviously needed a push. The mental gears were not turning as quickly as I wanted. I had dishes to wash. "Oh, shit," I said. "You tricked me."

I splashed moodily through soapy water while The Guy chortled merrily to himself. He's so clever, oh yes he is; he kissed up to my rosy round ass, and consoled me on my slip-up. Then he capered off, crooning, "I have a cool girlfriend who gives me neat toys!"... and ransacked my apartment, trying to find the present. I caught him zipping out of my roommate's bedroom.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, and narrowed my squinty eyes suspiciously.

He twiddled his thumbs. "Just thought I would wander in there," he said, weakly. "Just ... because." And then he skidded away as fast as he could, tee-heeing as he went. I swear he was doing this. Tee Hee. What human being not employed by Santa Claus and taller than three feet actually does that?

He found the box, of course. I heard him announce it, because he's got noodles for brains. "Oh!" he said. "There it is!" he said. And then, because they're not just noodles that he has in his skull, they're actually overboiled, old noodles, he left the closet door open so that I could actually see that he'd found it.

I present to you The Guy. Brain Trust for the ages.

After that, it was a simple matter to wrap up the Gameboy Advance-and-accessories I'd gotten for him, pop them into the Logitech box, and trick The Guy. He almost didn't open it when I gave it to him at my apartment on Tuesday. "I don't have my Playstation 2 here," he explained, "so there's kind of no point."

Anyway. He was surprised. I got my kick.

Most importantly, I won.

You know, if you take the word 'won' and replace the 'N' with an 'M' and add an 'EN' at the end....well.

I'm just saying.

From someone else on 3Way chat:

[FreeRadical] Hmm. They're handing out flags at work. They're very new, and they smell weird. All I can think is, "Patriotism smells funny." Posted by yhirata at October 24, 2001 12:02 AM