I'm sitting here with my usual stack of holiday gift catalogues. I'm flipping. I'm flopping. I'm stymied. This is a particularly difficult year because I've got more people than ever on my list who have moved over to . . . the other side. They've joined the ranks of those who say, "I really don't want any presents this year."
Ho-hum. Bah, humbug. And hang on a minute. Behold! Here on Page 53 I see the "You Can See Clearly Now!" ™ Deluxe Eyeglass Cleaner. My husband would love this! He loves to clean his eyeglasses. He really does. He starts each and every morning with a few shots of Windex on each lens. Now that I think about it, Windex is probably not good for today's sophisticated optical systems. Plus, there's that unsightly bottle of window cleaner always on the counter. And this gizmo, priced at $59.95, will perform a 40-second cleaning cycle at the push of a button. Is this not the perfect gift? "The extraordinary clarity is so delightful, you'll want to do this a couple of times a day!"
Now I must stop. And imagine. This is what I do. Before whipping out my credit card, I like to put holiday gift ideas to the test: Christmas morning. Eggnog. Carols playing in the background. Five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens . . . "Merry Christmas, honey! Now you can clean your glasses in a translucent blue tank with a 6-months' supply (8 oz.) of exclusive antifog, antistatic Cleaning & Conditioning Concentrate!"
Hmm. Perhaps I'd better turn to Page 54.
Here we have the Keycorder ™ Keychain Recorder/Flashlight for $39.95. You talk into it and tell yourself where you parked your car in case you later forget. Oh, I don't know. As a general rule, I think you shouldn't give the gift that says: "You, my friend, are losing your mental faculties."
Well, this isn't going well at all. What do you get the man who has specifically requested: nothing?
My husband moved over to the other side years ago. My sister Claire has recently done the same, and so have my parents. The list goes on. I'm telling you, they're dropping like flies. I get their point. I mean, who among us needs more stuff? The older you get, the less stuff starts meaning to you because you are feeling so . . . overstuffed. You either walk around thinking you're going to have to move into a larger house so you can fit all your stuff, or else you dial it back and tell people at stuff-swapping seasons to quit it. I really do understand. Just last week I told my mom, "Look, I don't need anything." I said. "Listen, all I want for Christmas this year is -- well, actually, that depends on what you're getting Claire." Sibling rivalry can trump the best of intentions.
So I have not fully moved over to the other side. But I do respect that there is another side. What's a gift-giver to do? Sure, you could just go the chocolate-covered pretzels route and give consumable items. But have you noticed how many of these anti-stuff people have extra freezers in their basements? Those freezers, in fact, contain holiday gifts dating to 1999. I can prove it. Someone gave me a pound of homemade beef jerky. I keep almost giving it to the dogs, but then I feel guilty for not even tasting it. So it's still down there, in the lower door compartment, far left.
The main problem I have with people who say they don't want any holiday gifts is that I don't fully believe them, especially if I am married to them. You know, stop. And imagine: Eggnog. Carols. Two turtledoves and a partridge in a pear tree. "Merry Christmas, honey! Um, yup. That's all. Now let's jiggle those snow globes and call it a day."
It's not going to happen. Hey, this is my holiday, too. And one of the things I want is the look of a happy husband who can't believe he lucked into such a fantastic gift-giver of a wife. Who, anyway, is gift-giving for? Well, let's move on here to Page 57.
"Always losing your glasses? Remote? Keys? Kid's favorite toy? 'Now You Can Find It' locater puts a pager on all elusive things!" Whoa. Is it true? I invented a gadget just like this in my imagination years ago. I need this. Little receiver disks you can attach to things you tend to lose, and that beep and/or flash when you push a button on a remote. Well, wow! For $69.95 you get eight disks and a remote control with neon-bright buttons.
Hallelujah, this is it. This is what I'll get my husband, because that is the beauty of gift-giving as it pertains to husbands: They live in your house. So whatever you get him, you get, too.
So, stop. And imagine. "Merry Christmas, honey, and let's remember who loses the car keys in this joint; who, in fact, is having the real problem with her mental faculties. "Happy Eggnog, sweetie, and let's go program your new Ultra 8 ™ Wireless RF Electronic Locater!"
Jeanne Marie Laskas's e-mail address is post@jmlaskas.com.
