Father’s Day isn’t until tomorrow, but we’re not exactly one for patience in this family (see, for example, our smallest member who just couldn’t wait to be born). In this case, my wife, who frequently depairs at great volume of ever managing to find me presents that A) I genuinely want, B) do not cost a small fortune, and C) I haven’t already bought for myself; proudly proclaimed that she had found me the perfect gift about a month ago.
And then she tortured me about it for the intervening weeks.
She would gloat. She would say “Oh man, I wish that Father’s Day would hurry up so I could give you your present!” (as if SHE were the one suffering). She would quietly ruminate over whether or not I would really like it. Basically, she was being her usual evil self. Because she’s evil.