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Meitus: Play percentages, win sentimental jackpot

Published January 21, 2006 at midnight

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Last week my husband and I celebrated the 25th anniversary of our wedding - to each other. He gave me a wedding band. I gave him a leather coat.

I am a sentimental fool. When he gave me the wedding band, I looked around to see if anyone else was in the room - you know like that commercial where the girl's parents and friends are waiting on the steps as he proposes all over again.

Nope. No one there but the two of us, the teenager who couldn't have cared less because it technically didn't involve him, and the cats.

When we told our son it was our 25th anniversary - we do these things only on a need-to-know basis - he finally transferred the info from words to brain. "Cool," he said, then he went right back to watching Office Space.

This past week on the Today show, two researchers were discussing happy relationships. The one researcher said that her mother told her that if you each gave 80 percent, you'd have a happy marriage because there was no such thing as giving too much. One coworker speculated that maybe that's why her marriage failed - she gave 80 percent; and he gave only 5 percent.

I gave at least 80 percent in the hunt for the leather coat. (I did not, contrary to rumor around the office, swing by Costco and pick up a carton of leather coats for $14.95 in size 4X. Hmmph - that would have been 50 percent.)

The night before our anniversary, I drove to the mall, and went to my husband's favorite department store. I looked at heaps of coats. Apparently men come in only three sizes - King Kong, the Hulk and Mini-me. I stopped Mr. Helpful Salesperson, who struggled to get a feel for my babbling as I tried to explain.

"Is he built anything like me?" Mr. Salesperson asked. He was young, really tall and lanky. Those are not words you'd use to describe my husband. Or me. He pulled out a half dozen coats and tried them on for me.

"What do you think?" he asked me.

I said: "I think if I were married to you, I'd choose the brown one, but I'm not, so keep looking."

With the clock ticking, I finally selected one that I knew wouldn't fit him unless he had grown at least three inches since I saw him that morning. Had I wanted to give another 20 percent, I'd have bought him some platform shoes like Huggy Bear used to wear on Starsky and Hutch. Huggy Bear? Wow, talk about your acid flashbacks.

Through the years my husband has gotten better at this gift-giving thing. Mostly he has learned to give me gift cards, after what my daughter and I call the purse fiasco, in which he gave me a purse large enough to hold the state of Colorado - and a lipstick.

I had to find a delicate way to tell him that I hated the purse and it was going back. I think my exact words were, "Nice try, hon. It's going back." (I think the "hon" put me over the top, don't you?)

The day of my anniversary, to add insult to injury, my husband sent me a dozen roses. It's kind of a standing joke between us, because I hate cut flowers, as he knows. There they are, a day later, little heads drooping, petals turning brown, screaming, "Do something. Puhleeease."

So I do. I wait a decent mourning period, and then I toss them in the nearest trash can. I don't need this guilt. I already have enough, thank you very much. And next year, hon, try to give only 80 percent.

When she's not giving 80 percent as a columnist for Saturday Spotlight, Marty Meitus gives 100 percent as the food editor. or 303-892-5229.