NIKES

I used to be an aerobics fiend. Four times a week I would lead a group of ladies at our church in a one hour session of sweat, grunts and groans. It was my release. Two little girls at home and not yet pregnant with the third, I felt the freedom to get myself ripped.

I had been telling Scott that for Christmas I wanted a new pair of Nike's for my frequent workouts. I had this beautiful pair picked out and all he had to do was go buy them. My old ones were just ready to be thrown out. They were so worked over the sole had left the shoe. No kidding, it flapped when I walked.

So Christmas morning came and under the tree was a perfectly wrapped shoe box with my name on it. I gave Scott the happy eye as I opened my new shoes. Imagine my surprise when they were not new shoes at all. They were my old shoes that he had repaired. To be specific he had glued the sole back on.

Now, here's the quandry. Scott is beaming because he has fixed my shoes and saved a lot of money. Should I burst his excited bubble and be truthful? Should I act elated and hide my feelings of utter disappointment? Hmmm.

Well, I told him "thank you so much honey, you are very creative" and left it at that. I hid my emotions well and our morning of gift giving continued. As the festivities progressed I became more and more irritated. How could he do this to me? He knew I wanted those shoes . . . I told him exactly what I desired.

I went in our room to calm down and saw an old shoebox on the floor. I kicked it. Klunk. That is never a sound you like to hear when children live in the house. I was afraid to open it. But I sucked it up and did. My new Nike's dazzled my eyes.

Scott stood smiling in the doorway.