I<\/span>f another civilization of semi-sentient life were detected living microscopically in the residue at the bottom of our coffee cups, would we find them more difficult to understand than our own kind? A caffeine-based race of aliens from a coffee bean galaxy, the Starbuckians (well, what would you call them?) could at least communicate to us, without much in the way of argument, how they like their coffee. We might easily understand their preference for, say, a large Double-Mocha with extra froth, over the Petite Espresso taken black, by simply counting how many were swimming around in each cup.<\/p>\n

I find myself envious of such easily achieved communication this morning. Of straight-forward demonstrations of \u201cI like this, I don\u2019t like that.\u201d \u00a0Gazing into the bottom of my cup of cold comfort, I\u2019m keen to initiate First Contact with the Starbuckians, to pry out their alien wisdom for the good of my species.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my little friends,\u201d I murmur, hoping none of the other caf\u00e9 patrons enjoying their magic elixirs overhear me talking to a paper cup, \u201cHow go your lives, and do you marry? Have you ever, completely innocently (or completely unconsciously), given your partner a gift that caused her eyes to blaze with a fell light, to pierce you with their baleful glare? Has, just for example, the phrase \u201cClueless Lummox,\u201d ever been applied to you in a pitying tone? And how did you get out of it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I need answers on this cold winters day, a plan of action for escaping the regretful pall weighing heavily on me. If I can piece together exactly what went wrong, if I can list my errors as a warning to others, then perhaps something might be salvaged from last nights\u2019 horror. When I fell from grace over what is already permanently imprinted on my cerebellum as \u201cThe Unfortunate Hori-Hori <\/em>Incident.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Starbuckians might tell us that love among humans is an odd phenomenon, a too complicated dance, performed blindfolded, compared with the matter-of-fact romances of the rest of the animal world. They could cite the example of Trumpeter Swans, which mate for life, but so far as anyone knows do not feel called upon to present their darlings with thoughtfully romantic gifts every fourteenth of February. They build their nests and raise their fuzzy little swan-lets without losing any feathers over whether a bit of dried seaweed is or isn\u2019t the most affectionate symbol of undying devotion. If they give gifts at all, any old thing would seem to do just fine.<\/p>\n

It might require a more sophisticated race then our own to point out that a finely made gardening tool can be romantic, and I wish a Starbuckian would jump out of her<\/em> coffee cup and tell her so this morning. \u00a0I wish it would whisper that the Japanese do not mess around when it comes to garden tools, that all the latent skills of a people who once equipped the Samurai with the finest swords in the world went into the Hori-Hori <\/em>she rejected violently last night.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

No overgrown tangle of vegetation could frustrate its ten inches of forged surgical steel, mated for life to a handle precisely milled from the hardest hardwood to be found on the Asian continent. A blade that makes short work of\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 irritatingly deep-rooted dandelions, but is also fully capable of giving the North Koreans something to think about should they be foolish enough to invade while an avid gardener is stabbing weeds.<\/p>\n

That said, it must be admitted that love expressed through gardening tools is risky. There was a certain amount of doubt in my mind as to what she really meant when she presented the catalog and proclaimed \u201cIt\u2019s wonderful! It\u2019s just what I want!\u201d I took a look at the picture, and was properly skeptical. I had learned, I thought, that usage and context are everything in these matters and that connecting \u201cWonderful\u201d to something which exists to root around in dirt could be perilous.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh come on,\u201d I scoffed. \u201cYou don\u2019t really want me to get you this, do you?\u201d I knew she couldn\u2019t be serious for I had history on my side\u2014my history, unfortunately. The memory of the chilly reception given to a barbecue grill presented on the auspicious occasion of her fortieth birthday was still very fresh, as was the contempt shown for my agonized plea of \u201cYou said you wanted one!\u201d As well, the bitterly regretted Dim Sum cookbook, an unwelcome ghost of a decidedly cold Christmas past, warned of the penalties for guessing wrong again. No, I wasn\u2019t to be fooled this time. A romantic something would <\/em>be found\u2014I could never be stupid enough to give her, on Valentine\u2019s Day, a fancy weed-digger.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a funny thing (though not quite so amusing this morning), the way that ideas which are laughable a month before a deadline become more and more appealing with each passing day. I sneered at the catalog straight through the last days of January, confident that something better would suggest itself. It wasn\u2019t as though I\u2019d never achieved the complex alchemy of the right gift given at the right time. I bolstered my self-esteem with memories of her beautifully twinkling eyes reflecting the glittering jewelry of years past, her joyful squeals over surprise vacation trips. No man can be wrong every time and expect to go on claiming half of the marital bed. The logic was comforting: I was still married; therefore I\u2019d had a few victories and was at least as good as other men. Which, as it turned out, meant exactly squat.<\/p>\n

The problem was that yesterday\u2019s brilliant success is hard to copy. No one can stand in the same river twice when it comes to presents, which, like nuclear weaponry, are a perpetual quest for the newest, the biggest, and the best. The gold bracelet that delighted her last year would not work again unless this year\u2019s selection sported diamonds. And should I choose to live really dangerously, next years gold bracelet had better be adorned with jewels looted from a Pharaoh\u2019s tomb. I knew all that. I also knew my credit cards would not stand that level of escalation. Biggest and best were out, newest would have to do.<\/p>\n

All through that first week of February I searched. I remember it only dimly now as an increasingly frenzied montage–flash-edited scenes of my hands pawing through catalogs of every description. They Googled countless variations of \u201cRomantic And Affordable Valentine\u2019s Gifts She\u2019s Never Heard Of And Will Worship You For.\u201d There really weren\u2019t any results returned that met all the criteria, though some of the x-rated products were interesting, and if I had been able to believe their manufacturer\u2019s claims, would have come close.<\/p>\n

By Sunday afternoon I was a wreck. Confidence gone, avoiding eye-contact with my wife, I complained, around seven o\u2019clock, that I was really, really tired and slunk off to bed. There to mull my options and avoid, as best I could, thinking about the Doomsday Option: \u201cDear, I couldn\u2019t find anything good enough for you.\u201d A moments\u2019 prescience revealed the direction my life would take after such a gambit and I lay shivering in terror under the blankets, my life-force ebbing away. Anything would be better then that. A few tired looking grocery store roses, twin ferrets on a leash, chocolate covered balloons– all infinitely better then appearing before her empty-handed.<\/p>\n

It was time for honesty. I\u2019d struck out big and there wasn\u2019t much time left to do anything about it. I ran through the dozens of possibilities I\u2019d rejected as too expensive, too clich\u00e9d, too this, too that. Was there anything I\u2019d nixed too quickly? Anything I\u2019d never given her before that didn\u2019t cost a fortune? Well, yes. Yes there was.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d never given her a Japanese garden tool. The logic of it was revelatory. In the history of the world, probably no one had ever given a Japanese garden tool for Valentine\u2019s Day\u2014even in Japan! I would be the first. That this seemed a good thing to me is illustrative of the distant and dark place my reason had fled to during that stressful week. I had lost my way in the quest for a perfect gift and there, in the gloom of my darkened bedroom, this most feeble glimmer offered hope of rescue. I just wanted\u2026 needed the ordeal to be over.<\/p>\n

That my wife had put the idea into my head was most appealing. She\u2019d placed the catalog before me and asked\u2026 no, demanded<\/em> a garden tool. She had done this several weeks before Valentine\u2019s Day, which, I was proud of being smart enough to recognize, was a hint that she wanted it for<\/em> Valentine\u2019s Day. I\u2019d be doing what she wanted, wouldn\u2019t I? And, I asked the ceiling, if that wasn\u2019t the essence of romance, what was?<\/p>\n

I was suddenly giddy and had to get up and walk around the room to burn off the energy surging through me, rejuvenated by the knowledge that I\u2019d cracked the code. I flicked the light on and spoke aloud into the mirror: \u201cTo hell with the ferrets! I spit upon stinking ferrets. I spit upon wilted grocery store flowers and inedible chocolate balloons.\u201d I would bask in my wife\u2019s admiration by giving her the perfect romantic gift. The bedroom could no longer hold me. I had an order to place.<\/p>\n

The Starbuckians have failed me. What is the use, I\u2019d like to know, of inventing an alien race if they won\u2019t do what I want? I\u2019ve sat in this caf\u00e9 (and really, the d\u00e9cor is quite ugly, greens and browns\u2014ugh!) all morning, pleading for their help. People are looking at me and I don\u2019t know if I can stay much longer. An overly officious manager-type has gathered a protective screen of barristas around her, pointing them toward me like attack dogs. And still the Starbuckians refuse to answer! I wave my cup around to shoo away the coffee clerks and stir up the stubbornly mute aliens. Maybe a good shaking will make them understand I\u2019m not playing.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve told them my sorrows and now I want the use of their greater wisdom to answer a few questions: I would like to know how everything went wrong so quickly. I want to know where the hori-hori<\/em> landed when she threw it out the back door into the garden. Most of all, I would very much like to know if I can go home yet. Her birthday is less then two months away and I\u2019ll need every minute.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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