Our daughter had a gift for her dad. At which time she handed him two sheets of green typing paper stapled four hundred times around the edges and then dizzied herself around the living room like a balloon losing air.
“Open it now, dad,” she begged. “It’s just what you’ve always wanted.”
My husband raised an eyebrow. What could such a gift be?
He popped a staple and tipped the gift into his hand.
“It’s a paperclip back-scratcher,” my daughter beamed.
Without a word, my husband took to the itch on his shoulder blade.
And then turned with a gracious grin and declared this one-of-a-kind back scratcher to indeed be the gift he’d always wanted.