Write about a time you gave someone a present.

Christmas 1978, a few weeks shy of my second wedding anniversary. We were living on a tight budget while my husband finished his final year of law school. I had just turned 22; he was 26.

I had worked all year hand-painting the ceramic ornaments that decorated our small, live Christmas tree. A Nutcracker soldier with details so precise I had used a 3-hair brush to paint them on. Santa's head, with full beard, a pom-pomed hat, rosy red cheeks, and a broad smile. A gingerbread house with candlelight glimmering through the windows. A tree this regal demanded lots of presents beneath its boughs.

With a budget much smaller than I wished weighing in my thoughts, I jumped in my white 1972 Capri and headed up South Laurel Street towards the Brea Mall. Once inside, I sought out the gift I was certain would please my avid-skier husband -- a down, hooded ski parka.

The Brea Mall had several stores selling parkas, most of which exceeded my budget by hundreds of dollars. The search for a parka that was both "right" and affordable took time and patience. I finally found the parka. The down fill was full and fluffy, the hood was snug and easy to adjust, and, as the jacket was on sale at a 50% reduction, the price was well within my budget of $150.00.

I took my treasure to the counter, my head filling with images of my husband's surprised and pleased face as he pulled back the tissue paper and the beautiful jacket was revealed.

At a time when our house payment was $325.00 per month, and our car payment was $50.00 per month, $150.00 was a lot of money to spend on a Christmas present.

But might not this jacket be a way to patch up the marriage that was already fractured by his infidelity.

Might not this jacket be a way to redeem me for the 10 pounds I had gained since our wedding, the 10 pounds that made him repulsed to be seen with me in public.

Might not this jacket sooth over the pain and anger I carried from the abortion a few months earlier, the abortion forced on me by his threat that he would leave if I had the baby.

Might not this jacket be the genesis for love to return to our marriage?

Looking at it this way, I knew the money must be spent. I pulled out a $20 deposit, asked for a layaway form, and committed to paying off the jacket within the next eight weeks.

As Christmas drew nearer, my excitement grew. My husband became playful and attentive, teasing me about the presents he'd chosen for me and simultaneously begging for clues as to what I'd bought him. Neither of us gave enough information to the other for an accurate guess to be made; the banter was enjoyable and we relaxed into an intimate, playful routine that rivaled our courtship days.

The weeks passed quickly. When Christmas Eve arrived, I hurried from work to the mall, the final payment bursting from my pocketbook. I presented the layaway ticket and a $20 bill to the clerk. She smiled and congratulated me on the purchase, then went to the back room to collect my treasure. I was beyond excited! When she returned with the jacket securely wrapped in plastic, my mouth dropped in horror and I felt my stomach turn. This was not the jacket I had put on layaway!

"This isn't my jacket," I said to her, hearing the high pitch of panic in my own voice.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Yes,” I said, with a tone that communicated that I was not in the mood to be treated like an idiot.

I described the jacket I had purchased. We looked at the layaway ticket and compared it to the jacket. No, the description and item number did not match the item in the plastic, but the layaway ticket number matched the ticket number hanging from the jacket's hanger.

Hot tears began to well in my eyes, and I blinked to control them.

"Are there any more of these jackets in the store?" I asked, pointing to the description and item number on the layaway ticket.

"No," she said, "they sold out during the sale, and we won't be getting any more like this."

I felt my world crumble. The clerk read my devastated face.

"Look," she said kindly, "take this jacket, put it under the tree. Come back after Christmas and we'll work something out." I was assuaged, agreed to her plan and paid for the jacket. As I trudged from the store to my car, the jacket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

Christmas morning arrived. The huge box under the tree had intrigued my husband since I had put it there the night before. He had shook it and poked it and felt the weight of it.

"Come on, Mel, what is it?" he playfully chided, as he guessed his way through his Christmas list.

"No, I'm not telling," I repeated a dozen times even after he shouted out that he was sure it was a down-filled ski parka. "You’ll have to wait until morning."

At 5:30 a.m. my husband sat cross-legged in his boxers in front of the Christmas tree and tore into the huge box, not taking time to admire the paper and the bow that I had painstakingly wrapped it in. His eyes sparkled, he was smiling, and the marijuana he had smoked with his coffee made him animated and delightful. I watched him with trepidation, ready to explain what had happened once the look of disappointment crossed his face. Instead, he pulled the jacket out and shouted in glee. He rose up with the grace of a gazelle, pulled the jacket on, and happily admired himself in the living room mirror.

"You like it?"

"Yes, it's exactly what I wanted," he said, and bounded over to give me a juicy kiss and a warm embrace.

The smell of marijuana lingered in his hair and mixed with the “new smell” of goose down and nylon. I started to cry. I told him about the jacket I had picked out and the deal I had gotten on the price. I told him about the layaway plan, and the shock of finding a different jacket waiting for me when I went to pick it up. I told him that the jacket I had purchased was exactly what he had been asking for, and that the store had somehow lost his jacket. I heard myself apologizing for the mixup, and promising him that if he didn't like the jacket he was wearing that we would look for one that he really did like.

My husband listened to my story, insisting that the jacket was perfect and that he loved it. I was not convinced. I continued to press for the "truth." Finally, he said, "Mel, sit down, I've got something to tell you."

"I know where you got the jacket," he said, "and I know when you got it. A couple of months ago I was walking through the mall on my lunch hour. I saw the jackets on sale. The jacket you mentioned, the one you put on layaway, I looked at it, and it was exactly what I wanted. But then I saw this jacket," and he touched the jacket he was wearing. "I just knew that you'd been to that store, and I just knew that you'd put one of the jackets on layaway for me. So I went into the store and asked the clerk if there was anything on layaway with your name on it. She went in the back, and found the jacket you'd bought for me. I told her I preferred the other jacket, and could she switch them out. Since they were the same price, she agreed to do it. I tried on the jackets, found the one that fit the best, and she put it on the hanger for you to pick up at Christmas time. So you see, Mel, you have given me exactly what I wanted for Christmas."

I don't remember anything else about that Christmas. I don't remember what presents my husband gave me. I only remember feeling betrayed, and played, and deceived by my husband's selfishness and by my own foolishness for believing that a down-filled ski parka could save my marriage.