Some gifts warm the heart, but my husband’s Christmas present? It ignited a fire of rage. I spent the next year plotting revenge, and when he unwrapped his gift the following Christmas, the look on his face was my real Christmas present.

Murphy and I always agreed on modest holiday gifts, so when he suddenly presented me with a huge, carefully wrapped box ten days before Christmas, I was stunned. “It’s something special!” he insisted. When I unwrapped it on Christmas Eve, I was horrified to find a vacuum cleaner. Not just any vacuum, but one he intended to use in his garage for metal shavings.

Angry and heartbroken, I confronted him. He argued that it was practical, but to me, it felt like a reminder that he saw me as a maid, not a wife. After a tearful argument, I retreated to the couch, heart aching and revenge brewing.

The next Christmas, I got to work. I bought a massive box and wrapped it in expensive paper. I invited the whole family, creating a spectacle. Murphy was excited, thinking I had finally splurged on something nice for him. When he unwrapped it, his face fell in horror at the sight of industrial-sized toilet paper.

“Christmas isn’t about what we want,” I said sweetly. “It’s about what the family needs.” The room erupted in laughter. Even Murphy’s mom gave me a subtle high-five.

Since then, he’s never mentioned Christmas gifts again, and I’ve kept a shelf stocked with “practical” gifts—just in case he ever forgets.