Deck the Halls

You’re a man, you haven’t yet bought your wife a Christmas gift, and I know what you’re thinking: “If I wait until after work on the 24th, I’ll get all the good deals.”

Well, no, you won’t. You’ll get all that’s left on the shelves, which will be three non-seasonal candles, lilac-scented would be my guess, a Clapper, and a set of multihued non-stick baking pans that have not met federal safety standards. The clerk will roll her eyes as you run around frantically looking for something, anything for the most important person in your life, and will chortle madly after you finally pick up the Clapper and ask her to wrap it, because she knows, deep in her womanly heart, that sometime after Christmas morning your wife will use it on you in ways that were never intended, and possibly illegal.

Of course, you could have avoided all this because your wife told you five months ago precisely what it was she wanted for Christmas. And she’s continually reminded you about once a week precisely what it was she wanted for Christmas. The problem is, you weren’t listening.

Not that it’s your fault. You’re just a man, after all, and the law stating that men and women will ever effectively communicate has yet to be written. For example, a wife asks a husband what he wants for Christmas. He says, “Oh, I don’t know. Actually, I’ve wanted a snow-blower ever since I ruptured that disk two years ago and have been in intense pain every time I bend over.” What she hears is, “Oh, I don’t know.” So she buys him, say, a new pair of lovely and expensive fleece lined gloves. Which he’ll wear every time he goes out in intense pain to shovel the driveway.

It’s not that she’s not listening, it’s just that she thinks she knows what he really wants. And that’s because she is a woman and therefore communicates by innuendo, and expects the same from her husband. It’s a basic and primal difference between us. Men speak in a direct and lucid manner. Women, on the other hand, use what I call the “Bermuda Triangle Method of Communication,” where hints and abstract intimations appear all over the radar screen, only to suddenly vanish without proper identification.

Which is why you are now looking at that Clapper thinking, “But, if only she’d told me what she’d wanted…” But, again, she did. More accurately, she implied it, and expected you to read between the lines. Nevertheless, since you’ve got a few more days left to shop, and since the wrong gift is a very, very bad thing, here is my annual Guide to

What She Wants for Christmas:

What she said: “Any little thing would be fine.”
Translation: “Any little thing like that cute tennis bracelet I pointed out in Zales last July.”

What she said: “You have good taste, just pick out something.”
Translation: “You have no taste, just call my sister.”

What she said: “I’ve got everything I want in you.”
Translation: “But you’re not a two-week, expenses paid vacation in Maui without the kids.”

What she said: “Surprise me.”
Translation: “Surprise me by imagining what you think I’d like, then getting the opposite.”

What she said: “Something for the house, I guess.”
Translation: “If I see a Clapper, sex will be just another three-letter word, as in ‘not.’ ”

So go to it, and Happy Holidays to all.
Translation: And no Chia Pets, either.

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