Santa Baby...

Okay, I'm not talking about the kind of guys you see in shots like this, though they are very nice (bad Tina, quit licking the screen).

What I'm referring to are guys that get Christmas from a woman's perspective. From what my friends have said over the years and from my own experience, those kind of men are few and far between.

Let me give you an example.

The first year my husband and I dated, I was giddy about Christmas as only a twenty-something can be. Although I wasn't expecting a ring (we were too new to each other), I was expecting some kind of jewelry. What I got was a clock radio. "So you're not late for work," he said. You see, he owned the newspaper where I worked.

Hmmm. By the look on my face, he knew he'd fallen into a deep hole of doo-doo, especially since I'd given him a gyroscope he'd been eyeing. Don't ask me why those kinds of things interested him, they just did.

The following year, I had no great hopes. We were married by then and I figured I'd get a blender or iron to improve my wifely skills. Christmas Eve, a working day for us, he left for the office earlier than usual, mumbling about deadlines. I trudged in a little later, but before the rest of the crew had arrived. I had a migraine, a pimple the size of Mt. Everest erupting on my chin and just wanted to curl up under the front desk and sleep.

A beautifully decorated envelope on the desk stopped me. It was taped to the wood and had my name on it. Inside was one of the lovliest cards I'd ever seen. What's more, instead of a canned poem being inside, there was my hubby's handwriting, telling me how much he loved me.

I called out his name. No answer. Surely, he was here, I saw his car out front. I went into the guts of the paper. There, on various tables and bookcases were other envelopes with my name on them. There were also gaily wrapped packages. One had a beautiful nightie I'd told him about in passing. The next, a novel I'd been thinking of getting. Another a briefcase I'd seen in an office magazine.

It was hard to read and see all the stuff, I was crying so hard. I ran into his office. He pretended to be on the phone, all serious and busy. I pulled the phone from him, hung up and kissed him hard, babbling about what he'd done. "Oh," he said, "you got to all of it?"

There was more?

At my desk, I saw another small package. It held a diamond and sapphire ring I'd seen at Zales when I went shopping with one of my friends. Clearly, he'd asked her what I wanted. What I liked. How he could please me.

It wasn't the gifts, though they were great. It wasn't even the cards with all of his thoughts written down. It was that he took the time to make Christmas special for me. That he cared enough.

It's a moment I'll never forget. I lost him a few years back from what insurance companies call a 'medical misadventure'. He had a minor ailment and the doctor prescribed the wrong medication. In a flash, he was gone.

But never forgotten. He'll always be my Santa Baby.

I'd love to hear about yours.