Surprise Me With Something ... 3rd place winner in a national humor writing contest
“Sherman, our anniversary’s tomorrow,” I reminded my husband. Simple words, but strong enough to make men cringe, relinquish the clicker, lose interest in their beer, and mumble incoherently.
Ye gods, Sherman mumbled, I’ve got to buy a present. “Didn’t we just celebrate our anniversary a couple of weeks ago?”
“No,” I replied, walking into the den. “The last time you took me out to eat was eleven months ago for my thirty-eighth birthday.”
“Has it been that long? Gee, you don’t look like you’re almost forty.”
“I’m not almost forty. I’m not even thirty-nine yet. Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Uh, yes.” Sherman’s brain whirled as he struggled to change his foot-in-mouth comment to a compliment. “What I meant was ... uh... you don’t even look thirty yet, so how can you possibly be thirty-nine next year?”
“That’s sweet,” I replied, sincerely.
“What do you want, flowers or candy?” He prayed I’d choose one so he’d be spared the effort of figuring out what to buy.
“Flowers are nice, but don’t buy me any, puh-leese. My allergies are driving me crazy. And I don’t want any candy; I’m on a diet.” I’m always on a diet, he should know this, but if I don’t remind him, he’ll give me a two pound box of Godiva dark chocolates and I’ll feel duty bound to consume them all before the week is over.
“Well, what do you want?” he whined.
“I don’t know. Surprise me with something,” I called over my shoulder as I returned to the kitchen.
I’m doomed, Sherman thought. I’ve got less than twenty-fours hours to buy a gift. If I don’t get the right thing, she’ll be upset, and I’ll be banished to the spare bedroom until Halley’s comet returns. He slumped in the recliner, dreading tomorrow’s odious chore . . . shopping.
***
Sherman is not alone in his dilemma. Gift selection is a major skirmish in the battle of the sexes. A woman’s quest to locate the perfect gift at the mall reduces the Crusaders’ search for the Holy Grail to a mere scavenger hunt. Men, if given the choice, would prefer to defuse a ticking time bomb with a plastic straw and a toothpick rather than be subjected to the stress of shopping.
Buying gifts for men is simple; they’re easy to please. Give him a dozen golf balls, a cordless drill, a book by his favorite author, a bottle of Jack, or a Yankees’ sweatshirt and he’s happy. Men rarely dislike the gift they receive, and if they do, it’s no big deal. He might wonder why you bought him a Yankees’ shirt when he’s been a White Sox fan his entire life, but he won’t complain. He'll just shove the gift in the back of the closet and forget it. I guarantee he’ll never react by stomping to the bedroom, slamming the door, and refusing to speak to you. And he definitely won’t cry!
Women, however, get very emotional about gifts. Without reciting a lot of psycho-babble, let me explain. Last year after Sherman gave me a deluxe, four-slice toaster for our anniversary, (which we sorely needed) I didn’t coo, “Oh, a toaster, how wonderful! Now we’ll enjoy lightly-browned bread instead of cinders for breakfast. Thank you, Sweetie.”
Rather, I thought, What do I look like, a domestic slave? I thought I was his love cherub. A toaster’s about as personal as a call from a telemarketer. I stormed off to the bedroom to watch “Sleepless in Seattle” for the umpteenth time.
My perplexed husband remained in the den mumbling, “I did what she said. I bought a surprise. I can’t win.”
To navigate the mine field of gift selection, I offer men these suggestions.
Resist buying gifts with power cords. This means no weed whackers, rice cookers, or belt sanders. Don’t be misled by statements like, “My curling iron belched out a ten-foot flame today and nearly seared off my eyebrows,” or “The blender exploded and shot tomato sauce all over the kitchen. It looked like Jack the Ripper had been here,” or “The vacuum is a worthless piece of junk. It won’t even suck up a dust bunny.” Hearing these comments a man’s “I-can-fix-it” genes kick into high gear. I’ll get her a new vacuum for her birthday, he thinks. Well, think again!
Women don't want tools for presents. Those statements aren’t coded message requesting new appliances. She’s merely telling you about her day. If you think giving a super-duper, deluxe, mega-sucking vacuum will stop her complaints, you’re wrong. She’ll no longer complain about the lousy vacuum, that’s for sure, because she’ll be too busy griping about the impersonal gift you gave her.
Forget about X-rated lingerie unless she generally dresses as Catwoman. If your little woman typically sleeps in a turtlenecked suit of armor, gifts from Simon’s of Sleazeville won’t be welcomed.
Avoid gifts purchased in the automotive department. My friend Denise vividly recalls the anniversary gift she received eighteen years ago, as if it were yesterday. She opened a beautifully wrapped gift from her husband to discover an air filter for her aging car. She prayed, for his sake, it was a joke. She smiled nervously when he produced a small box with a flourish. “Here, Sweetheart, I’ve got something really special for you.” Was it keys to a new car? A diamond bracelet? Tickets for an exotic vacation? No, it was a gift certificate for a lube job at Monkey Joe’s. Women don't forget gifts like that, nor do they let the giver forget them either.
Be careful when selecting clothes. Sizing is far more critical than color or style. If the slacks are too small, she'll ask, “Whatever possessed you to buy this size? A pygmy couldn't get one leg into these slacks.” And God forbid you buy something too large. “A size 43 triple X? Do I look that big?” Never answer that question!
Last minute shopping should never be done at the Gas ‘N Guzzle, the home remedy aisle of your pharmacy, or at Rid-All Pest Control Service for obvious reasons.
No matter how tempting the $19.95 wonder item appears in the infomercial, don’t order it. A soldering iron that doubles as a lip liner is not high on any woman’s gift list. Also, refrain from ordering musical collections, like ‘The Chipmunks sing Wayne Newton’s Top Hits.’ These once-in-a-lifetime offers, can, and should be passed up.
A prudent man keeps several gifts tucked away to save his butt in an emergency. Hubby learned this trick years ago. So last week when I said, “Do you remember what today is?” followed by an icy stare, like a good Boy Scout, he was prepared.
Minutes later I accepted a bottle of my favorite perfume. “How thoughtful, but, I bet you forgot your proctology exam is today, didn’t you?” Well, what can I say? His butt’s beyond saving!
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