IMPORTANT DATES AND THE PERFECT GIFT - Final Chapter

    My wife, on the other hand, has no problem with this.  Just the other day she announced triumphantly, “I found the perfect gift for you.”

     “What’s the perfect gift?” I asked warily. 

     “It’s an HPS,” she answered. 

     “What’s an HPS?”

     “It’s a ‘Husband Positioning System.’”  It’s a terrific little device that can be attached to your belt or suspenders.  It gives you the exact location of the clothes hamper, with opening and closing instructions.  It also gives directions to the clothes closet, with instructions on how to hang your clothes, how to fold and place your clothes in your drawer.  There are directions to other exotic locales as well, such as the garbage, washer and dryer, and the dishwasher, not to mention the vacuum cleaner, duster, and various other handy tools.  It will even re-calculate if you miss your turn and walk by garbage that needs to be taken out.”

      “Wow, you can’t beat those features.”

     “Yes, and it even warns you if there are distractions ahead, such as a ballgame on TV, or a fishing pole calling your name.”

      Personally, I love a good distraction now and then.  Nevertheless, I agreed to try this new gadget.  I was surprised by the voice giving instructions.  It sounded like the voice of my wife.   Wherever I went, the voice would say, “Distraction ahead.  Make a U-turn right now.  There is a better way.”  I finally turned off the HPS and picked the distraction of my choice.  

 

     “How do you like it?” my wife asked the next morning.

     “I’m afraid the technology is far beyond most husbands,” I answered.

    “I guess I’ll have to return it and get my money back,” my wife said, disappointingly.

 

     “While you’re doing that, I’m going to take this old fishing pole out to the lake, and see if it has any fish left in it,” I said as I jumped in the car and sped away.

      Life was good again.  I was enjoying the perfect gift.   

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SHOPPING DISORDERS AND THE MALL SPIRIT- Segment 4


        To sort out the matter, I decided to read the article.  I discovered a person can give the wrong gift.  Fruitcakes--a delight of Christmases past--are now on the list of gifts that are unacceptable.  So it ISN’T the “thought that counts.”  The article stated that a fruitcake is one of the gifts you’re mostly likely to get a return on, whether it’s returned the day after Christmas or the following Christmas. 
  

     After giving it some thought, I returned the Fruitcake I had just received from a friend, informing him that it was no longer in the “thoughts that count” category.  I hoped it wouldn’t mark the beginning of a long, drawn-out Fruitcake War.  I didn’t want to find any roadside fruitcakes that had to be detonated.  Not taking any chances, I bought a fruitcake-sniffing dog. 

     My friend wrote back, suggesting we call it a rotating “Trophy Fruitcake.”  He would keep it for a year, and then I would keep it for a year.  I wrote a reply.  “Nice thought,” I said, “but I don’t think the fruitcake would be up to it.  You can keep it.”  I haven’t heard from him in several years.  Not taking any chances, I kept the fruitcake-sniffing dog.  

    

      Even though my wife insists it’s the “thought that counts,” I’ve decided to surprise her for our anniversary this year.  Instead of giving her “thoughts that count”, I have some “good intentions.”  I hope she likes them.  Of course, the biggest problem with “good intentions” is that they’re hard to wrap, and I never have enough wrapping paper. 

   

       I had some “good intentions” for her birthday, but they got misplaced, and I never did find them.  So my body just sat, or reclined; I don’t quite remember; whichever was more comfortable.  Fortunately, after a neck adjustment by my wife, an alarm went off, and a message flashed across my brain screen, “Abandon Recliner, Abandon Recliner!  No, your lifesaver is not under your recliner.  It can be found on aisle 12 in the jewelry section at Macy’s.  You must hurry!”

         It’s always nice to get some help when you’re looking for the perfect gift. 
 

     My wife, on the other hand, has no problem with this.  Just the other day she announced...


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SHOPPING DISORDERS AND THE MALL SPIRIT - Segment 3

     I’ve been chasing the perfect gift for a good part of my marriage.  It’s always in the back of my mind.  But it’s so far back, it’s difficult to reach.  My memory doesn’t like the long trek, so it rarely goes there.  I think it’s afraid of the dark.  With such an undependable memory, I often have to resort to the advice my wife gave me shortly after we were married.  Realizing I was afflicted with S.A.D. (Shopping Anxiety Disorder), she consoled me by saying, “It’s the thought that counts.” 

     So the following Christmas, I gave her some of my thoughts.  She gave me a piece of her mind.  Apparently, the thoughts that I gave her didn’t count.  “No,” she said, “When I say “It’s the thought that counts,” I mean you don’t have to look for a big, expensive gift, just something small and inexpensive.  Well, not too inexpensive, just something that shows you’re thinking about me. 

    The next Christmas, I looked for the perfect gift that would fit in the “thoughts that count” category.  After days of frantically rummaging through purses, diamond rings, high-fashioned accessories, and some nice thoughts in several major department stores, I found a nice refrigerator magnet.  I was hoping my “thought” would count.  It did.  It was our first refrigerator magnet as a married couple.  We stood, hand-in-hand, admiring it on the refrigerator. 

      For her birthday, I got Connie a large bouquet of flowers.  “These are beautiful.” she said.  “Where did you find them?”

    “In the neighbor’s yard,” I answered.  “’Thoughts that count’ require much more creativity.”

     One Christmas I was sitting in my recliner, staring out the window, shopping for some new thoughts, when I was interrupted by an article in a popular magazine that said it might not be the thought that counts.  I was immediately thrown into a state of confusion, a state where I had once sought residence.  Do my thoughts count? Or don’t they count. What if I kept my thoughts to myself?  Would they count?  Who would even know?

     To sort out the matter, I decided to...

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