Hayter’s article for December 12, 2021
“The worries surrounding gift-giving”
I don’t have a clue what to get Kay for Christmas. And I told her so. “I don’t have clue, yadda, yadda.” She said one of the most frightening things she ever said. Nothing. Usually, I get, “That’s okay, darling. I’m not getting you anything either.” I like that. I can live with that. I prefer that! But, nothing? Just dig a hole and kick me.
You know the message she was sending, don’t you? She was letting me know that she already got me a gift, so unless I want to feel like a jerk on Christmas morning, I’d best get my carcass in gear and go shopping. Thus turning the glee that was once “Christmas” into a kick in the pants. Yes, I know. It’s not s’posed to be about getting gifts. It’s all about the fear of buying the wrong gift.
I am the worst spouse-gift-giver since Faris Hayter. Fortunately, Dad had an excuse. He was an only son of a mother who left for better things during the depression. While Dad didn’t see his mother, Pearl, much, he usually got something from her on Christmas. I’ve got a picture of him when he was four years old standing in the snow wearing a fur coat and matching hat. He looked like an under-aged Cossack.
I think those are the reasons Dad was lousy at buying Mom gifts. Me? I’m the son of my father. I don’t know how to buy gifts for women. When in doubt, I always go with something she might need, instead of something she might want. I have a problem with “wants’. You’d pretty much have to cut a picture out of a magazine and tape it to my chin.
I did great for our 50th Anniversary. We celebrated by flying to Washington to be with the part of my family that likes me. So I considered it a gift for the both of us. Let’s face it, I get Kay stuff all during the year. This morning she showed me a lovely wedding band with tiny diamonds all around it. I asked her how much it was, and the figure seemed affordable, so I suggested she get it. Again, was that so hard?
The men-stuff she shows me is either too expensive or doesn’t appeal to me. I do happen to know that I’m getting a milk frothing probe for Christmas. I haven’t seen it but I saw the box The box weighed five times more than what was in it. Kay told me to leave it alone, so it’s my frother. Makes me sad that I never got my father a frother. Regardless, Amazon doesn’t take time to match small items with the appropriate size boxes. The people on the assembly line just grab a box throw a trinket inside, and pile in a yard’s worth of inflatable plastic. The time spent in grabbing the right-sized box costs more than the effort involved.
You’d be a real doodle-head if you didn’t recognize my problem. It’s the fact that I know the things Kay likes -- blouses, pants, dresses, skirts, shoes, jewelry, and more shoes. But I am not attuned to her style. I’ve mentioned before the first Christmas gift I gave her was a Kansas City Chief t-shirt with the number 89 on it. Otis Taylor’s number. Taylor was a massive defensive lineman, well-known by all except Kay. This was while we were still dating, and I thought it so cute to see her in a KC t-shirt with the number of a giant on it. Get it? She didn’t get it, either, but acted pleased. In fact, she’s never acted anything less than pleased when she sees what I bought her. She’ll take things back but always manages to look pleased with whatever she gets.
The important thing to note is that I have gotten that woman everything she needs. Well, we’ve bought each other everything we need. There are three vacuum cleaners in this house! One is a battery-powered Dyson, another a Shark two-speed control sweeper, and the big caboose, an Electronic AMP Hepa vacuum. We use ‘em all.
Well, I use ‘em all. Kay would vacuum, but she’s yet to catch on to the art of emptying the canisters. That woman knows technology, she’s a great seamstress and can handle any insurance issue we may have. But, when it comes to vacuuming, she draws a blank. No worries. I love to vacuum. That and nail pulling. Love to pull bent nails out of loose boards.
What is weird is that Kay is the only one I have trouble buying for. The brothers? They’re easy peasy. I could get ‘em a battery-powered ear-wax remover or nose-hair trimmer. They’ll say thanks, and I’ll never hear another word about it. Matching caps with our names on ‘em. They wouldn’t care. They wouldn’t wear ‘em, but they wouldn’t care. This year, I let Kay pick out gifts for my brothers. She got something computeresque. It’s quite useful and more expensive than the usual stuff I get ‘em. And, they won’t know how to use it. But? Right, they won’t care.
Something for Jill is my easiest buy. She likes everything. “Oh, Moke, how sweet! A ballpoint pen that writes underwater! Now I can do my crosswords in the shower.” Susan lives in Washington State, and we used to chip in and get her a gift certificate. We stopped doing that last year. I asked one question. “Would y’all send me a gift certificate if I moved out of state.” Larry said, “Why don’t you leave and find out?” So, I assume we all quit sending Susan money so as not to hurt my feelings. The family has always been careful of my feelings. I’ll try not to let this power go to my head.
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