“What do you want for Christmas?” she asked, her tone more pointed than a poppy pin. She offered a blank piece of paper and a pen for my list of “wondrous Christmas wishes” or some similar Christmas ad-inspired festive claptrap.
I sighed mightily before responding. As I have explained to my dear, sweet bride, for eons, I neither need nor want a bunch of store-bought stuff. It isn't trying to be noble or anything. I am not greed-free. No one is. However, if I want something through the year, I go get it. I'm worth it, I say, and even Cupcake may one day be convinced.
Admittedly, it's rare for me to actually buy something for myself anyway. The things I enjoy doing don't lend themselves to accessorizing. Whether it is acting, writing, surfing the net, or even playing darts, I am involved in activities that don't require anything in the way of Christmas gifts to make them better. I don't for example, need special “typing gloves” or a “keyboarding helmet” for when I'm computing. Nothing I can think of would enhance the experience, other than maybe Cupcake waving palm fronds over me as I surfed; something she has indicated she would rather not do. Actually “violently opposed to the idea” was how she worded it.
You see, when I enjoy computer time, I mostly check out news sites and read the moronic comments of the armchair analysts that often follow the news and opinion pieces. When I am fed up with all the doom, gloom and negativity (and that's just from the Oilers reports) I need a guffaw break and check out www.failblog.org and feel superior for a while. I don't do a lot of “gaming” unless you count the countless hours I've spent playing solitaire or FreeCell while talking on the phone or while waiting for a page to load. (I can't remember the last time I've played solitaire with a real deck. Dealing all those cards would take forever now. We just can't spare that kind of time while we're relaxing. Computers for all their speed have not made us more patient people.)
(But I digress.)
As I was saying, darts, too, don't require a great deal of accessories. There's the occasional need for shafts and flights but they are cheap like borsht and last a fair amount of time. Mine, in particular, last for months since my darts rarely go near one another in the board. The only dart accessory needing replacing on a steady basis is dart lubricant, which comes in brown bottles and goes great with clamato. There's also a high-end extra-strength lubricant formula which comes with a worm at the bottom of the clear glass container. Cupcake sneers at these sports aids claiming they're inappropriate Christmas gifts, however, she thinks they aren't in keeping with the spirit of the season. I pointed out the first thing monks did when setting up monasteries throughout history was to grow grapes and make wine. Unfortunately, Cupcake always fails to grasp the significance of my historical examples to legitimize my behaviour. “Does it have to be booze?” Cupcake snapped, a bit sharply, I thought, given the subject matter being discussed was my personal happiness. “You like food too.”She pointedly eyed my midriff area. Well, not all at once, obviously.“Exactly!” I tried to keep the 'I got you now' sound from my voice and failed. “I get a bunch of yummy, rare treats at Christmas and then you make me go on a diet at New Years! How cruel is that?”
I explained to her another issue I have with producing a list of things I covet is that writing it out makes me feel crass and greedy. To quote Cupcake on a different topic, “It doesn't mean as much if I have to ask for it.” I would much prefer one single gift with a lot of thought behind it as opposed to a plethora of presents available at your average mega-mart. Choosing a gift because you really know and understand that person is so much more valuable than simply more stuff.
I then pointed out to my Extremely Significant Other that whatever stuff she buys, she also has to come up with a place to store it. Our tiny abode is already jam-packed with years of accumulated other stuff and finding places for new stuff is nearly impossible. The stuff of dreams becomes a nightmare.
When I tried to explain my position, however, Cupcake withdrew the pen and paper in full huff with a snit chaser.
“Fine! You... you... Scrooge you!” she raged.
“Thanks, honey!” I beamed in glee.“What do you mean?” she squinted in suspicion.
“Well, the whole point of the book, “A Christmas Carol” was that Scrooge became as, as Old Chuck Dickins put it, 'and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge'. What a wonderful compliment!”
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