Poster boy and The Box

Poster boy was just returning from one of his extended adventures. He’d been on the road for nearly eight weeks while I stayed at home, playing house with a girlfriend.

She and I would make dinner together, have a couple of cocktails and then go to bed and turn on a chick flick. She’d fall asleep with her glasses on, and I’d take them off of her and set them on the nightstand.

At first I had a hard time sleeping next to her because she doesn’t snore. She’s completely silent when asleep. I would wake up to roll over in bed and not hear a steady “snnnnggg … snuuuuggh … shnrt … snnnggg” or a deep mouth-breather inhale and exhale, and I’d get panicky. “Oh, shit,” I’d think.”I’ve woken her up. Or she’s dead. In my bed.” But no, she just slept like someone without a deviated septum. I could get used to that. It was all very nice, but Poster Boy had to come home at some point.

Our reunion night was all planned out. I shaved my legs for the first time in weeks. I thought about painting my toenails, but that seemed a bit much. All was prepared.

When he showed up, he had grown a chest-grazing beard. He was a little stinky and more than a little scruffy, but I was glad to have him home. Of course he brought me presents.

They were silly little cute things he’d picked up here and there. Funny tourist T-shirts. A sticker from Wall-Drug.

Then he pulled out The Box. You know, that one particular blue box. C’mon ladies. THE BLUE BOX.

Now, poster boy’s got a noteworthy gift-giving history. There was the time he took me to NYC for my birthday. There was the time he gave me a Choose Your Own Adventure Date. But there had never been jewelry. Never. And I’ve pointed out this hole in the gift-giving history a time or two. Or a hundred.

But this is also Poster Boy we’re talking about.

“No,” I said, “you did not.”

“Open it!” He said, grinning toothily.

“No.” I repeated. I couldn’t think of anything else.

“Open it already.”

I did. Inside, I found a silver star. A brooch.

A plastic, silver-colored, star shaped sheriff’s badge with a plastic emblem glued to it that read, “Wyoming.” The back looked like a safety pin had been repurposed with some more Elmer’s. 

It turns out he found The Box when he was helping someone move. He thought it would be cute to put my present in it.

I did manage, somehow, not to pierce his face with the safety pin. Or to throw the star at his head, ninja-style. But I think that’s only because it wasn’t really heavy enough to even poke his eye out.