It’s Christmas time again, the season of brotherly shoving. If you think shopping at your local department store is a nightmare, try the mall. I call it, “holiday spawning”. You literally fight your way through a mass of humanity, only to get verbally abused at the customer service desk, walk 10 miles looking for your car in the cavernous parking lot, then survive the commute home. It’s there where you dump off your load of gifts, and promptly drop dead from exhaustion. Yes, I do know what a salmon feels like.

Of course, nothing is as difficult as trying to find the “perfect” gift for your significant other. I know I’m not the only man who has walked into a store and looks as if he’s about to take the bar exam without studying.

My feeble attempt in the art of shopping for my wife occurred in a women’s store recently. The store was holding a gift shop night strictly for men. It was like a therapy group for dysfunctional gift-buying men. I knew this trip would be less stressful than most after I read the theme banner, “No questions too dumb”.

Everything on display was user friendly for men. The perfume counter used only scratch-in-sniff stickers since most men only know how to open things with a pop-top lid. Even the dress aisle was ideal. To determine your wife’s size, mannequins from size small to registry of motor vehicles were placed in line. 99% of the men had to embrace the mannequin models to figure out their wife’s size.

Despite my ignorance, I was most pleased that I came to a decision-any decision- without the aide of my wife. So, what did I buy? An expensive dress size, 4. I determined that while she might not like the dress, she will be impressed that I felt she was worth the expense. Also, I know she’s not a size 4, but if she believes I see her as such, she’ll really love me.

Now, what do I do next year? I’m already sweating on that question.