Camden doesn’t understand

Camden unlocked the front door of their small Nashville apartment at 6:17 p.m. on the dot, the same way he did every weekday. He set his CPA briefcase on the exact same floor tile he always used, hung his keys on the third hook, and called out, “I’m home.”

Karma’s voice came from the sewing nook in the second bedroom. “In here! Package came for you.”

He found her at the cutting table, surrounded by fabric scraps and the soft whir of her vintage machine. Two cats—Wetsley, the gray tabby, and Buttercup, the orange one—were curled in their usual spots on the windowsill. Karma had her dark hair twisted up with a pencil and was wearing one of his old Fisk University hoodies over leggings. She looked up and smiled the same bright smile that had made him ask her to marry him three weeks after graduation last year.

“Happy anniversary, almost,” she said, nodding toward the plain brown box on the table. “It got here early. I didn’t open it.”

Camden felt the familiar warm click of satisfaction in his chest. He had ordered the gift six weeks ago from a discount site that specialized in “punny occupational apparel.” The listing had shown a simple white tee shirt with a heart shape made entirely of scissors. Perfect. Karma was a hobbyist seamstress on Etsy and was deep into her doctorate of Occupational Therapy at Belmont. Scissors for sewing and for OT adaptive tools. Clean. Logical. Affordable. He had even selected the “add a consolation gift for the spouse” option at checkout for an extra four dollars.

He opened the box with the kitchen scissors (the good ones, not the fabric ones) while Karma watched, chin in her hands.

Inside, folded neatly in tissue paper, was more than he remembered ordering.

A white tee shirt with a heart made of scissors, just like the picture.

A pair of soft black panties with the phrase I ♥ wet printed above a cartoon picture of a cat.

A small enamel pin that said #1 Carpet Muncher! in cheerful pink letters.

A pair of black pants whose zipper pull was shaped like a tiny pair of scissors.

And a simple black baseball cap with white embroidery that read I ♥ my wife’s girlfriend.

Camden stared at the items for several long seconds. His brain did the same thing it always did with idioms and innuendo: it took every word at absolute face value and then stalled when the pieces refused to form a clean, literal picture.

“I ordered the scissors-heart shirt,” he said carefully. “The rest of this must be a packing error. Or the ‘consolation gift’ was more extensive than the website indicated.”

Karma leaned over, picked up the panties, and read them out loud. “I heart wet… picture of a cat.” She tilted her head. “That’s weirdly specific. And kind of cute? Maybe it’s a cat-lover thing.”

Camden pointed at the pin. “Carpet muncher is a person who chews carpet? That seems unhealthy.”

Karma’s mouth twitched. She had learned early in their relationship that explaining every double meaning only made him more confused, so she usually let the literal interpretations stand unless it was important. “Maybe it’s a cleaning joke,” she offered gently.

He picked up the hat last. I ♥ my wife’s girlfriend.

“Why would some love their wife’s girlfriend?”

Karma laughed, soft and fond, and took the scissors-heart tee from him. “It’s probably just a bulk mystery box of silly shirts. You still got the one you wanted. Thank you. It’s perfect for me.”

She stood, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the bedroom with the white tee. A minute later she came back wearing it. The scissors-heart sat neatly over her chest. She struck a little pose.

“What do you think?”

Camden’s eyes moved from the shirt to her face and back again. “It fits the stated theme of your two skill sets. I am satisfied with the purchase even if the additional items are erroneous.”

Karma’s smile widened. She stepped closer, took the strange panties and the pin from the box, and held them up. “Mind if I try the rest on later? For the absurdity of it? We’ve got the apartment to ourselves and the cats don’t judge.”

Camden considered the request the way he considered most requests: seriously, thoroughly, and without reading between any lines that might not exist.

“If it makes you happy and does not damage the items in case we need to return the extras, then yes.”

“Deal.” She kissed him again, longer this time, and padded off toward the bathroom with the full set of unexpected clothing in her arms.

Camden sat down at the kitchen table, opened his laptop, and began the evening ritual of reviewing TriStar Energy expense reports. Behind him he could hear drawers opening and the soft sound of fabric moving. Wetsley jumped onto the table and sat on the invoice stack. Buttercup followed and settled on the warm laptop hinge.

He scratched both cats behind the ears and tried not to think about the hat that claimed he loved his wife’s girlfriend.

Whose wife would have a girlfriend?

He returned to the spreadsheets, completely unaware that the scissors-heart shirt, the cat panties, the carpet-muncher pin, the scissor-zipper pants, and the inaccurate hat had already begun their quiet, irreversible work.