The Christmas shopping season may seem long, but it’s much shorter than an election campaign. Life moves fast, but Christmas moves even faster.
Shopping is no cause for alarm, but it can be if you wait until Christmas Eve day to do it. Then it can be confounding.
Shopping isn’t painful. That part comes at the checkout when I shuffle past the “Who are all these people?” magazine covers. I’m not a good shopper. That means I give bad gifts. That’s OK. The recipient will regift it to someone who will regift it to another, and on and on it will go until it finds a home where it is appreciated. There’s a hat for every head. I’m not just buying a bad gift. I’m paying it forward. I’m buying a bad gift for many people. I have difficulty assessing the goodness of a gift, but I give without apology. We regift because we care – to get rid of something. The ghost of Christmas past is regifting. I say this to a giver of a useless gift, “When I give this to someone else, I’ll think of you.”
Most presents are opened and never spoken of again. Remember, the Christmas gifts of today are the garage sale items of tomorrow.
I have gift suggestions. Feel free to ignore them.
Don’t give any clothing that requires a user manual.
Give a gift that people wouldn’t buy for themselves, like a toenail clipper that comes packaged in a gift set with goggles.
Lip balm. It makes a fine gift because the lip balm that was everywhere, goes into hiding when it’s needed.
A book for men on how to put things back into a refrigerator properly. Every book is a self-help book and we all need help.
A salt and pepper shaker set. Season’s greetings.
Snacks for someone who is trying to shed a few pounds. A bag of potato chip-scented air.
Coyote urine, which by spraying this stuff around your house will repel all kinds of pests, including the mailman, family, friends, neighbors, Jehovah’s Witnesses, dog walkers and raccoons.
A squirt gun that shoots ketchup for picnics and self-defense.
A cat litter box. The gift that keeps on giving.
There’s nothing like the joy on a kid’s face when he first sees the PlayStation box containing the underwear you got him.
An empty box. It’s an air guitar or a set of air barbells.
A deer head mount with antlers enough for hanging ornaments.
An Aldi shopping cart. You can get one for only a quarter.
A bowl of maple nut ice cream. If it begins to melt, eat it. It’s the thought that counts.
Nothing. It’s the perfect gift for the person who has everything.
Don’t forget to give the sample lady in the grocery store something nice.
My wife got carried away one year and gift-wrapped the wrapping paper. I made note of that.
If you hold his gift close to your ear, you can hear the man who bought it saying, “I’m getting this so I can get out of this store.”
Some men finish their Christmas shopping before they start it.
A young fellow of my acquaintance wasn’t thrilled with the ratio of toys to clothes as he trudged slowly away. When asked where he was going, he said, “To my room, to play with my new socks.”
Back when we wore ugly sweaters for warmth and not to be a part of a contest, it snowed. That’s not unusual on Christmas Day. I wanted a dog. Not unusual. We had a couple of cattle dogs. A cattle dog isn’t a cattle/dog hybrid. Those things are rare. I wanted my own dog. I looked out a window to see a little puppy crawling out of a snowdrift across the drive. That dog, a complete stranger, became Rex, the finest dog a boy could associate with. A Christmas miracle.
Dad met my mother at the grocery store where she worked. It was on a Saturday night when the farmers came to town. The grocery store was standing room only, yet those two found one another. A shopping miracle.
I finished my Christmas shopping.
Plop, plop, fizz, fizz. Oh, what a relief it is.
Christmas miracles happen.
Photo by Al Batt
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