Digressions of a Dilettante

Digressions of a Dilettante
Vignettes of Inanity by Bud Hearn

Friday, December 3, 2010

The Christmas Dilemma

The Christmas season is here. Men are in a sweat. Panic grips them. It’s the same every year...what to give a woman who has everything. We’ve had 364 days to come up with an idea. We’re still clueless.

Men have always had this problem. It’s because they have a wild and aberrant gene when it comes to Christmas shopping. They may run huge corporations, but they freeze when faced with the prospect of buying a woman a gift. Every man suffers this torment.

Men wait until the last minute, hoping by some miracle the Idea Muse will pop out of nowhere. They scan catalogues and stroll through malls. They’re confused; too much to choose from. So they can’t pull the trigger when it comes to making a decision.

It’s easy to buy gifts for men. Anything goes. Now my brother is a dentist. He loves gold. I once gave him a ‘gold’ Rolex with a ‘diamond’ bezel for Christmas. It cost $50. I bought this treasure from a homeless man who guaranteed its authenticity. It worked long enough for me to pull off the hoax. My apparent generosity left my brother speechless. You know, brotherly love and all that.

He wore it proudly. But soon the ‘gold’ preferred his arm to the watch. Distraught, he rushed to his jeweler, his watch melting by the minute. The truth ruined his day. Regrettably, my brother didn’t appreciate the humor. We’re beginning to speak again, but I’m still afraid to use him as my dentist. So much for brotherly love.

Humorous deceits can sometimes be lethal. Branham’s friend surprised his wife with a huge ‘diamond’ ring for Christmas. He bought it from a Cuban pawnshop in Miami. It blinded her eyes and later triggered an IRS audit. When she took it to be appraised the jeweler said, “Honey, this is cubic zirconia. It’s worthless. But hey, it’s Miami, show it off.” His friend died under suspicious circumstances a few weeks later. She buried him along with the ring.

One Christmas my wife asked for a fur coat. We were young, money was tight. I argued that it’s not cold enough. This logic can get you killed. Smart men react and bite the bullet. It avoids divorce. With my last pennies, I finally bought her a coat. Our marriage improved. Fur coats are not for keeping warm, but for other reasons I’m yet to discover.

Last year in the men’s grill we cooked up a fail-safe plan for our wives’ Christmas. It was brilliant in its simplicity. Alcohol, hidden in the eggnog, helped make our plan perfect. Clive came up with the idea, and we bought in. Each of us agreed to take some infrequently-worn gold jewelry from our wives’ stash. No stones. Something they wouldn’t miss. Little did we know.

We exchanged the gold trinkets among ourselves. Our wives would never know that their Christmas gifts were once owned by friends. They would appear to be new gold baubles, wrapped in used Tiffany boxes, suitable to please any goddess on Christmas morning. We sealed the secret plan with another round of nog.

But the scheme slid sideways. My wife opened her gift and gave it a long look. The room became silent. The dogs crept out. Lights flickered on the tree. Santa knew something was wrong. She said, “Explain why my best friend’s initials are engraved on these earrings.” I mumbled something indecipherable. She gave me ‘the look.’ I dissolved into the chair. Christmas day went downhill from there. Things only improved when I booked a trip to Paris.

My co-conspirators endured similar tragedies. After the fiasco, we spent several weeks in the men’s grill, consoling one another. Only Clive avoided detection and his wife’s wrath. He had melted down Dwight’s wife’s gold Pompeii earrings into something resembling a motorcycle. Dwight escaped banishment by the gift of a new Jaguar and several shopping sprees to London. We put Clive on probation for two years.

The plan had been flawless except for one miscalculation…. Women never forget anything. They know every piece of jewelry they own. In a matter of hours they had unraveled the botched ruse, made necessary exchanges and plotted their own revenge. Happily ever after? What do you think?

Men, this Christmas I wish you luck with your wild and aberrant gene. But remember, nothing good can possibly come from drinking eggnog with your pals in the men’s grill. Merry Christmas!


Bud Hearn
Copyright December 3, 2010

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