Not that she needs to be, but the missus is a bit of a buy-your-child’s-affection kind of gal. I’m not exactly Mister Deprivation or anything (full disclosure: I bought her a toy, a puzzle and a book yesterday), but Wifey showers Weevy with gifts left, right and center, not to mention up, down and sideways. So it’s no surprise that when packages arrive in the mail, Weevy expects them to be for her.
Only thing is, Daddy gets a lot of “presents” too — by which I mean bottles of booze from various PR firms for my review and general enjoyment. Most days, when we get the mail together, the conversation goes like this:
“Ooh, Daddy, is it a present?”
“I think it is.”
“A present for me?”
“No, sorry sweetie, it’s a present for me.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like a bottle of whiskey.” (“Whiskey” means basically any kind of booze. I will start distinguishing the specific types of spirits with the young’un soon, but not yet.)
We get upstairs, open up the haul:
“Is there anything in there for me?”
Usually, I say “No, just a bottle of whiskey, sorry.” But she always looks so crestfallen when I tell her that. I WANTED her to share in the bounty. And the other day, I figured out how. It came to me in a moment of blind inspiration, as so many of the best ideas do. I was pulling out a bottle of Booker’s Bourbon (thank you, everyone at Jim Beam) from the box which had been liberally wrapped in a large amount of bubble paper — the kind that you can pop with your fingers. The kind of thing kids love. The kind of thing my kid in particular loves.
“Well look at this, Weevy! There’s a bottle of whiskey for me and a whole bunch of bubble paper for you!” And I handed her a sheet. Her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “OH WOW! Bubble paper!” And she let out a shriek of sheer glee like it was the greatest gift she’d ever gotten.
But I didn’t stop there, oh no. Inside was a note from the publicist who’d sent me the bottle, telling me to enjoy it, etc. I said, “Look, Weevy, there’s a note in the package too!” It says, ‘Dear Tony, I hope you enjoy the whiskey… and tell Weevy to enjoy the bubble paper.'” Hey, I figure I can only do this until she starts reading, which won’t be too long.
Well, now she was REALLY impressed. “They said for Weevy to enjoy the bubble paper! YAY! Bubble paper!”
Now I try to find a “present” for her in every boozy package I get. Wild Turkey Spiced Bourbon included a faux “treasure map which says “No Pirates Allowed.” She looks at it incessantly, and it cracks me up when she says, “It says ‘No Pirates Allowed, Wild Turkey Spice.’ Why are there no pirates allowed?” She has literally said this to me 20 times in a row.
And yesterday, we got a big box of Scotch in a Halloween-themed wooden box decorated with skeletons, witches, monsters, etc, complete with a card (which I told her was for her), featuring a poem all about the whisky. For reasons I can’t quite explain, she loved it and made me read it to her for about a half hour straight.
Hey, whatever makes the girl happy.