Many people, as you know, are depressed around the holidays. Most of them, of course, are husbands.
You see these poor creatures on Christmas Eve. They have no glad tidings. They have no Christmas cheer (all right, maybe just a belt or two for their nerves before they hit the mall). What they do have is that desperate look found only in deer at the wrong end of a headlight and men who haven't yet found a present for their wives.
Men try. Well, they try for a while.
If you're out shopping, you will see young guys (if they're older, it's a second marriage, or there's somebody on the side) who might even look happy as they approach the saleswoman and say those fateful words, "You look about the same size as my wife."
She picks out a size 8; your wife is a size 12. Your wife says you think she's too fat and this dress is just a not-so-subtle reminder, and your Christmas present turns out to be a call from a lawyer.
Or you could be this guy.
Oh, it was a long time ago. They were newlyweds, just about. He bought his wife a dress. At Pier 1. I'm not kidding.
"She thought it was a gag gift," he says. "But then, when she couldn't find the real gift, she started to have serious doubts about me."
You could see that. I have doubts about him now.
As I said, men try, especially at the beginning, before they know better. Before they hear the stories.
Like the one my friend told me about her father. This was a guy who spent virtually every waking hour in a hardware store. His life's ambition was to be Pat Summerall. Anyway, for Christmas one year, he bought his wife a bathrobe -- from Montgomery Ward. He was there, looking for ratchets or something.
What did his wife do? Did she pretend to like the bathrobe? Did she pretend not to notice that it wasn't, say, a Dior? (If you answer yes, you are either unmarried or married for under five years.)
She threw it in his face, which was particularly painful because he had accidentally left one ratchet in a robe pocket.
Let's face it, just going to the mall should get you points. I'm not talking about the parking. I'm not even talking about the dangers of being injured by gangs of hopped-up teens heading for the Gap, which is, as many of you know, an adult-free zone for the entire month of December.
No, I'm talking about having to listen to Burl Ives sing "Holly Jolly Christmas" nonstop over the mall sound system. I've seen grown men cry.
Still, it's something you have to do every year. If only women were more like men, as Henry Higgins pointed out. Men are easy to buy for. You buy them books or power tools or CDs or any gadget. Women tend to want something that requires thought, which puts a lot of us out of luck.
If men have to buy clothes, they tend to go the safe route. Robes, sweaters (lots of sweaters), maybe a jacket if you're really adventurous. I know one guy who says he buys dresses for his wife. He even says she likes them. I'd like to hear her version. It's no coincidence that department stores put those fancy return cards in the boxes.
Besides, how could I buy a dress for my wife when she takes back at least half the dresses she buys?
The other safe item is jewelry. I've bought my wife bracelets, necklaces, rings, brooches, pins, earrings, you name it. Everything but anklets and nose rings.
A friend of mine and I used to go to the same jeweler ever year. We put several of his kids through college. This friend has a story I liken to "The Gift of the Magi."
He buys his wife a nice pin, which she actually likes. But, the next day, it's gone. He accuses her of losing it; she accuses him of throwing it out in the trash. O, the Christmas spirit.
I talked to some veteran husbands about their buying habits. One guy gives his wife a half-dozen catalogs and asks her to pick something from each. Then he picks something to buy. Another is even less romantic. He tells his wife to go out and buy herself something. He does wrap, though.
Another guy relies on his teen-age daughter. That may be a mistake, unless his wife is especially fond of jeans with the knees ripped out.
What I do is a multiple-choice thing. My wife and I go shopping together, and she shows me possibilities. Later, I pick one out, usually with the help of a dart board. And even later still, we both pretend that I have somehow discovered the perfect gift.