Months of saving every penny and nickel and dime, and Marianne didn't even have three dollars to show for it. She had tried, oh had she tried, but money just never goes as far as you'd like. There are always bills and debts and unexpected expenses. And so Marianne only had two dollars and eighty-three cents. Two dollars and eighty-three cents, and tomorrow was Christmas.

There was nothing left to do except fall on the bed and cry. And so Marianne did.

Now, let us step back and look around a bit, not at Marianne, but at the apartment. It wasn't much, but it was only eight dollars a week. Although it was supplied with electricity, it was something they never used, as it would just be another bill to pay. The apartment was furnished in the way that eight-dollar-a-week apartments are. With a letter-box downstairs that could hardly hold a letter, an electric bell that doesn't work, and with a little card on the door that reads 'Mr Arthur Ignatius Kirkland'.

A name that suited him very well when he was making thirty dollars a week, but then he had lost that job and found a new one which paid him very nearly twenty dollars a week. Now the 'Ignatius' seems to be fading all on its own accord, as if it would disappear entirely, leaving the card reading simply 'Mr Arthur Kirkland'. Of course his full name was never used inside the apartment, for as soon as he came home his wife would put her arms around him and simply call him 'Arthur'.

We've already met his wife, she is Marianne.

And now let us return to Marianne. Marianne, who's tears were falling a little slower now. She slowly stood up, looking at herself in the mirror. Given how narrow it was, that was no easy task, but Marianne had mastered the art of turning quickly enough to get almost a full glimpse of herself. Her face had gone pale, but her eyes were shining with more than just tears as she looked at herself.

Now, if there was anything the Kirkland's took pride in, one thing would be Marianne's hair. The other being Arthur's typewriter. The typewriter was a gift from Arthur's father. One that Arthur used everyday, late into the night, working at a novel he hoped to have published someday.

She gently brushed her fingers through her hair. Her long, thick, golden curls. She quickly dried her face and put on her shoes and her coat and hat. She picked up her purse, stuffed with the little bit of money she had. She took one final look around their apartment, nodding to herself and left.

She hurried down the steps and across a few blocks to small shop with a sign above the door that read 'Mrs Sofronie, hair goods of all kinds'. Marianne carefully pushed the door open.

Mrs Sofronie was a stout, severe looking woman, who appeared to have earned the name Sofronie.

"Do you buy hair?" Marianne asked timidly.

"I buy hair," Mrs Sofronie confirmed, "Let me see it."

And so Marianne let down the cascading golden waterfall of her hair. Mrs Sofronie ran her hands through it, feeling it's weight.

"Twenty dollars." she finally said.

Marianne nodded and sat impatiently as Mrs Sofronie cut her hair off. Afterwards, she went out with the twenty dollars secure in her purse, as she searched for the perfect gift for Arthur.

...

She would have put it on Arthur's roll top desk, except Arthur kept it locked. So Marianne set Arthur's gift up on the kitchen table, just to see how it looked. She had known it was the perfect gift as soon as she saw it. One new electric lamp, so he could see while he wrote at night. It hadn't cost nearly as much as she made from her hair, but the rest of the money would pay for the electric bill they would now have.

Marianne sat, combing her fingers through her hair (in the hopes of being more adjusted to it by the time Arthur came home) while she waited. When the door opened, Marianne stood in anticipation, in front of the table to hide the gift. She waited as Arthur took off his coat and hat and shoes. Arthur stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Marianne in shock.

"Oh, Arthur," Marianne begged, "Please don't look at me like that. I'm still me, I've just had my hair cut. I had to!"

"You cut your hair?" Arthur repeated.

Marianne nodded, her eyes filing with tears as Arthur continued to stare at her. "Don't be angry, Arthur, I couldn't have gotten you a present otherwise."

"Marianne, you didn't have to-"

"Yes I did. Because you're my husband, and I love you. Would you like to see it?"

"I suppose I better. Since you went to this much effort." Arthur shook his head a little.

Marianne stepped aside. "It's a lamp," she explained needlessly, "So you won't strain your eyes while you type late anymore."

"While I...Oh, Marianne," he sighed, "I'm afraid I won't be typing anything anymore," he said simply, "I sold my typewriter."

Marianne sank into a chair, her tearfilled eyes overflowing.

"Marianne, don't cry!" Arthur hurriedly tried to amend things, "It's still a wonderful gift! And it will work the same for a pen or pencil as it would for the typewriter."

Marianne looked up at him, "Why would you sell your typewriter?"

"Ah, that." Arthur sank to his knees in front of his spouse and pulled a neatly wrapped package from his pocket. "I...I didn't mean to be rude when I came home, but...this might explain my reaction." he handed to package to Marianne.

Marianne looked at Arthur for a long moment before slowly unwrapping the paper. "Oh, Arthur," she sighed when she saw what lay underneath. The silver vanity set she had wished for for months, but knew she would never save enough for. The brush and comb that were now useless to her, and the mirror that would only remind her of what she had done. "Arthur, my hair will grow back." she promised.

"I know that." he casually sat across from her, "Now why don't we put our gifts away for now and have dinner?"