text: "I'll help you wrap it," she said. It was her Christmas present, and she has said the same thing every year for the last thirty years. "No," I say, "I can do it myself." So, saying that, I close the bedroom door. She will stand at the door and turn the knob threatening to enter as I have the package exposed sitting on top of the first Christmas paper I find. "Can I help you find anythingscissors, scotch tape, ribbons, bows, name tags?" "No, I'm just fine", I'll say. "Now, where are the scissors?". "In the top drawer of the desk," she says from the outside of the door. "The scotch tape, the ribbons, bows and name tags are in the box under the ironing board." "How does she do that?" I mean, I didn't say anything out loud. I think we've been married too long! Come to think of it, she always knows what is in the package before she opens it. She finishes my sentences. She'll say things like, "an In-N-Out hamburger sounds good", when I've been thinking about it. I hope we're not beginning to look alike because I don't think she would look good with a bald spot. Well, back to work. There were two gifts to wrap. The first was a package of two plug-in flashlights. It would have been easy to put them into a shoe box and wrap the square edges, but I thought it would drive her crazy to wrap it as it had come from the shelf. This way I didn't have to be neat. As long as all parts were covered, the job would be done. I covered the holes I made with Christmas stickers--looked great! Scotch tape the corners, slap a bow and name tag with 1-4-3 on it (code for "I Love You") and one down and one to go. Better get another roll of scotch tape. She must use dozens of rolls with all the packages she wraps. "Sure you don't need any help?", she says each time she passed the bedroom. I didn't. The first package took twenty minutes. If you want to do something right, it takes time. I once built a car from a weekend kit. The directions said it could be done in one weekend. I took ten months. Things take time. The second gift was in a box with square corners. It was an espresso/cappuccino maker and about a cubic foot in size. I turned the package upside-down because I wanted all the taping to be on the bottom. I cut the paper the right length, but there seemed to be too much paper on the sides. How do wives measure the right amount? No matter, that's what scissors are for. I tried to fold the corners into little triangles that folded together at the center. Too much paper. Get the scissors. Now the corners fit, almost. Some of the box showed. No problem! Cut a patch and scotch tape it over the opening. The corners seemed to bunch up. No problem! Get the fat ribbon and pull it over the corners. How does she tie the ribbon? No problem--scotch tape. Put a ribbon in each corner and a name tag in the middle. Done--30 minutes, a new record. Looks good! "Are you alright in there," she wanted to know. I said, "all finished, and by the way, you ran out of scotch tape!" Now it was time to make a grand entrance with both gifts. I would have to give her a couple of innocuous hints as to the contents, and a few phony places where I had shopped, and I was finished (until our anniversary in January). I put them under the tree next to the ones she had wrapped for me. Maybe it was the change in the air temperature, or rough handling, or just bad scotch tape,but the presents just didn't have that professional look that they did in the bedroom. But, it didn't matter. For thirty years we've done it this way. It's expected. It's a ritual. It's our ritual. She knows that it's DONE WITH LOVE, and she wouldn't have it any other way. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; This song embodies my goal for this short story; it is meant to uplift people through hard times.