I am one of those men who enjoys making it damn difficult for loved ones to buy me anything for my stubborn self for Christmas. My father was the same. So it is kind of a tradition handed down amongst us knuckleheads and neanderthals.
And today outside the largest shopping mall in a three-state area here at the Cool Springs Galleria, I confirmed this truth with two other men at my local auto repair place. They really didn't want anything for Christmas either. As one fella explained: "If I want something, I'll go out and buy it for myself."
Exactly.
Perhaps our reticence to participate in this holiday hell is due to the fact that we're more into the role of playing the big, bad breadwinner to the fullest. So we want the carcass of cash we bring back to the suburban cave to be used for the family first.
Second, we reflexively jerk back in fear and revulsion at any color of clothing that's bright and not undertaker black or blue jean blue.
Third, tools are a very personal item like jewelry. We have to form an attachment to any item in the store first; the older and dirtier the better. A good tool has a history to it. Anything that's been used on Jeff Gordon's car is an automatic stocking stuffer winner.
Fourth, books are fine, particularly if the coffee table is out of balance.
Ties are OK but should be reserved for Father's Day as part of that event's annual fashion torture.
Underwear knitted with the Burger King slogan of "Home of the Whopper" is not something that can be shown off to friends. Many men are too modest for such bragging.
So wives and loved ones should save themselves a lot of heartache and just let boys be boys this holiday season. The best gift on Christmas morning for the man you love may well be an hour of toasty naptime in the living room La-Z-Boy.
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