Townsman, 1991-11, Page 42dlufffm
Confessions of
a last-minute
Christmas
shopper
By Keith Roulston
I sit here at the computer on a Sat-
urday afternoon typing this column,
knowing that not only would an orga-
nized person have had this column
written long before deadline, instead
of a day after it, but an organized per-
son would be using the time to get out
and get his Christmas shopping done
early.
Early! my co-worker would have
said. Early for Christmas shopping is
May, or July at the latest. Shopping in
November is late. Shopping in
December is something you do to get
ideas for next year. She's planning a
day ncxt week (in late November) just
to wrap up the odds and ends she has-
n't put in place by now.
Not to be sexist about this, but I
imagine most women would call me
just a typical man. We leave every-
thing until the last minute. We have
other priorities, everything from get-
ting the storm windows on (which I
also leave until snow is sifting
through the crack between the upper
and lower sash), to watching football
games on TV...or bowling..or curl-
ing...anything to keep from going
shopping.
I have good intentions each year.
About Thanksgiving I usually think
that I really must be more organized
this year. I really should start getting
ideas for that perfect gift for my wife
this year. I really should volunteer to
take on more of the shopping to
relieve her of the burden of buying for
all those men on the list. Of course I
also swear, as I write this column each
issue, that the next time I won't leave
it until the last minute and then
always leave it to the last minute.
With the column, I manage to per-
suade myself that the pressure of the
deadline helps get the juices flowing
and something better results from it.
Can I really convince my wife that
leaving her gift until 4:30 p.m. on
Dec. 24 means she gets a better pre-
sent out of it?
It would be so much easier if she
just liked power saws or electric
routers. I don't mind shopping in the
hardware store. But despite women's
liberation that says women are sup-
posed to be able to do anything that
men do, most wives still aren't inter-
ested in wood lathes.
I have compromised over the years
and turned to the housewares section
of the hardware store but after new
blenders or toaster ovens two or three
years in a row, there may be subtle
hints that something more personal
might be nice for a change. And she
doesn't mean having a toaster
engraved "You still put the pop in my
life".
So, I sigh and head into the other
stores along main street, by-passing
the clothing stores as long as possible.
Jewellery's not bad...except that what
you see that you'd like to buy her is
almost always a lot more than your
bank account says you should spend.
Then there's the left -over feeling from
childhood that bulk means best, the
opposite that "good things come in
small packages" motto. You start
thinking how you can package that
exquisite set of earrings in a big box
to look more impressive under the
tree.
Now the bookstore is a good place
to shop. I can spend hours there and if
I don't find a gift for my wife, at least
find a half dozen or so for myself. But
how many books can you give a
woman? She's got a backlog of books
she's been unable to find the time to
read to the point she almost needs a
librarian to catalogue the collection.
So eventually, with heavy heart, I
40 TOWNSMAN/NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 1991
make my way into a clothing store
sooner or later. I feel weird...like peo-
ple may suspect I'm secretly buying
this stuff for myself. I feel inadequate.
I don't know what's in and what could
be from the remainder counter at Hon-
est Ed's. I don't know materials. I
haven't the slightest idea of styles.
I have leamed the lesson most hus-
bands learn over the years: what hus-
bands would buy for their wives to
wear and what wives would buy for
themselves to wear are two totally dif-
ferent things. Thus I stay way from
anything daring— especially the lin-
gerie counter. Besides, I'm sure I see
the corners of the sales clerk's mouth
twitching, ready to burst into laughter
the moment I'm out of the store as she
gaily relates to her friends about the
silly middle-aged man who just
walked out of here with visions of
Playboy Playmates dancing in his
head. (Why do you think those mail-
order companies selling sexy lingerie
do such a booming business?)
Then there's the matter of sizes.
Experience says that holding your
hands about so far apart doesn't really
help the sales clerk decide what size
your wife might wear. And you never
feel more like a thoughtless, neglect-
ful husband than when you can't even
say what size clothing your wife
wears.
Asking for sizes, however, is an
immediate tip off that you're thinking
clothes. Writing down the sizes one
year to buy the next can be dangerous.
If she has put on a few pounds, you
won't be thanked for pointing it out
for all to see when she can't get the
buttons up Christmas day on that
dress you bought her. If she's lost
weight and is proud of her accom-
plishment, buying last year's size
won't win you any awards.
And so, despite best intentions, I
keep putting off the shopping spree
each fall. When it gets serious, when I
haven't any choice, I'll finally plunge
ahead but until then, I'll try to avoid
thinking of it...the way I don't think
about my next dentist appointment
until the morning I have to go.