"The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other." ~Burton Hillis
AUBURN, Maine — I like Christmas shopping as much as I like having my teeth cleaned or receiving dozens of robo calls from politicians during an election year.
It's not the money. It is the time spent in a mall with a crowd of desperate people searching for that perfect give. Along the way, you become annoyed with the masses, the traffic, the winter weather and relatives. The Christmas music starts to sound like heavy metal as you look for an exit.
It's not fun. One year, I went off the deep end and yelled from my car window after spending an hour inside a crowded story on Black Friday in Portland. I sped away screaming, "You are all nuts!"
My wife thought I needed help.
Never again!
When I find the courage to venture into a store during the holiday rush, I go in like the Marines — get in and get out! I can last an hour before suffering a mental break from a deluge of Christmas tunes and long lines at the checkout counter.
There is a thin veneer to my patience when it comes to holiday shopping.
And it's not like I go around shouting "bah humbug" in the store isles. It would attract too much attention and those guys in white suits would cart me off to the nearest funny farm.
I try to be pleasant.
Buying for my wife is easy. I don't ever, ever, ever, consider giving her a kitchen appliance for Christmas gift. Who the hell wants a blender for Christmas, and nothing says I don't love you more than brand new dishwasher.
If you go that route, you do so at your own peril. I don't want to be around when some poor bastard buys the little woman an iron.
There will be blood.
For me, clothes, books, gift cards and the occasional string of pearls are all wonderful gifts for a wife who tolerates me. I am a guy on a budget and I don't have wealth, like say, a conniving congressman or an overpaid CEO. But if I could, I would lasso the moon for Terri (See George Baile) and splurge on my son.
Clothes shopping for Terri is a cinch. She tells me the sizes and I plead for help from customer service reps who get a kick out of a husband with taste.
I need a women's touch when making delicate and important clothes purchases for my wife.
Shopping for my son is a different can of tuna. Toys are no longer a priority for him, and sometimes that breaks my heart. He is nearing adulthood, and I lost that little boy who would play with Hot Wheels for hours.
For Christmas, it will be skis, a class ring and unnamed gifts because I don't want to ruin his surprise on Christmas morning.
Gifts for me? I could care less.
When I reach for the coffee on Christmas morning and turn to see Anthony and Terri unwrapping gifts under the tree, I received everything I wanted on my holiday wish list this season.
AUBURN, Maine — I like Christmas shopping as much as I like having my teeth cleaned or receiving dozens of robo calls from politicians during an election year.
It's not the money. It is the time spent in a mall with a crowd of desperate people searching for that perfect give. Along the way, you become annoyed with the masses, the traffic, the winter weather and relatives. The Christmas music starts to sound like heavy metal as you look for an exit.
It's not fun. One year, I went off the deep end and yelled from my car window after spending an hour inside a crowded story on Black Friday in Portland. I sped away screaming, "You are all nuts!"
My wife thought I needed help.
Never again!
When I find the courage to venture into a store during the holiday rush, I go in like the Marines — get in and get out! I can last an hour before suffering a mental break from a deluge of Christmas tunes and long lines at the checkout counter.
There is a thin veneer to my patience when it comes to holiday shopping.
And it's not like I go around shouting "bah humbug" in the store isles. It would attract too much attention and those guys in white suits would cart me off to the nearest funny farm.
I try to be pleasant.
Buying for my wife is easy. I don't ever, ever, ever, consider giving her a kitchen appliance for Christmas gift. Who the hell wants a blender for Christmas, and nothing says I don't love you more than brand new dishwasher.
If you go that route, you do so at your own peril. I don't want to be around when some poor bastard buys the little woman an iron.
There will be blood.
For me, clothes, books, gift cards and the occasional string of pearls are all wonderful gifts for a wife who tolerates me. I am a guy on a budget and I don't have wealth, like say, a conniving congressman or an overpaid CEO. But if I could, I would lasso the moon for Terri (See George Baile) and splurge on my son.
Clothes shopping for Terri is a cinch. She tells me the sizes and I plead for help from customer service reps who get a kick out of a husband with taste.
I need a women's touch when making delicate and important clothes purchases for my wife.
Shopping for my son is a different can of tuna. Toys are no longer a priority for him, and sometimes that breaks my heart. He is nearing adulthood, and I lost that little boy who would play with Hot Wheels for hours.
For Christmas, it will be skis, a class ring and unnamed gifts because I don't want to ruin his surprise on Christmas morning.
Gifts for me? I could care less.
When I reach for the coffee on Christmas morning and turn to see Anthony and Terri unwrapping gifts under the tree, I received everything I wanted on my holiday wish list this season.
No comments:
Post a Comment