Don’t Go Shopping with Me on Christmas Eve

Oh, how I love giving.  It’s my love language.  It makes Christmas such a fun time and… a little stressful.  Why?  Because I adore giving gifts, but I also want them to be enjoyed and/or memorable.

Finding gifts that the kiddos enjoy?  Easy.

Nieces and nephew?  Easy.

The parents?  Mostly easy.

My Sweetie?  Oh, my!

While my amazing husband is stellar in character, integrity and servant-leadership, he is incredibly tough to shop for.  Seriously.  Gift ideas for a guy who DOESN’T wear dress clothes, care about shoes, play golf, have a hobby, need another t-shirt, like cologne/aftershave, have an iPad, give one flip about clothes, or want me to spend more than $50 on him is pretty stinking difficult.

Every year, I put off buying his gifts because it’s so hard.  And by put off, I mean that I’m the notorious Christmas Eve shopper.

A Christmas Eve shopper is desperate.  He or she wants a gift and hears the clock ticking.  This is heightened to a ridiculous level if the shopper wants the gift to be a hit.

So… one, now notorious, Christmas Eve, my mother and I found ourselves at a local department store that sells all manner of items.  It’s actually famous in our area for having whatever it is you’ve been looking for everywhere else.  ”If you can’t find it, go to Gibson’s.”

I was looking for a memorable gift and hadn’t found one anywhere else.

Gibson’s it was late Christmas Eve afternoon.

Mom and I ended up in the hunting section because My Sweetie had started deer slaying.  He was really interested in going hog hunting though.  Some guys on camp had been talking it up, so… Mom and I looked for hog hunting paraphernalia.  Uh, yeah.  We were as successful as you can imagine.

Finally, I walked up to the gun and knife counter and said, “So… if my husband wanted to go hog hunting, what would he need?”

The sales guy had my number immediately, but he played it well.  “Well, a gun is good.  A knife, better.”

“He has a knife and gun, but what do real hog hunters use?”

“Well…” he says, as he saunters behind the counter and reaches his hand out, “if he wants to be a true hog hunter, he needs this.”

He pulls out a eight foot long spear and unsheathes a twelve inch blade at the end of it.

My  jaw dropped.

My mom’s and I’s eyes locked.

As if cued by a script, we started laughing hysterically.  The guy just stood there holding a huge spear in the middle of a funny smelling department store in a little town in Texas, looking like a confused Masaai warrior.

In between breathes and snorts, I asked how much the spear cost.  “Oh, it’s just $75.”

Increased hysterical laughter.  I think I had to apply counter pressure to my rib cage.  I believe Mom may have been wiping her eyes.  I’m pretty sure the  sales guy saw success sailing out the cash register.

Finally, Mom and I looked at each other again and I said, “I have to buy that.”

“Clearly” was all she got out in between cackles.

I put the receipt in a safe place for a return that I assumed would be immediate, but Mom and I left Gibson’s highly entertained and confident the gift would be memorable, if not enjoyed.  We didn’t  even care if the Gibson’s sales team was talking in the locker room about the two little women who had SUCKER written on their foreheads.

Christmas morning, My Sweetie was stunned.  I giggled and guffawed the entire time he was opening it and I don’t think I stopped grinning the whole day.  I assured him that I knew he would take it back and I had the receipt ready.  The spear was the most memorable gift of the year.  Actually, it’s probably the most memorable gift I’ve ever given.

The photo posing that morning was constant.  Every male in the house (My Sweetie, Daniel , Papalou and family friend Chris) just had to have photos taken outside with it, pretending to throw it or attack or spear through another male.   It didn’t take long for guys on camp/RTC to hear about it either.

The spear still sits in a corner of our bedroom,  more than ten years later.  Never used.  The hog hunters just laughed when My Sweetie brought it to his first hunt.   Clearly, those rascals were not true hog hunters.  My Sweetie kept it contrary to his incredibly frugal (I sometimes call this trait something less positive) nature.

When I posted on Facebook this week begging for advice on what to buy a man who is more than difficult to shop for, a friend chimed in, “Does he have a long spear for hog hunting?”

I almost choked laughing and spit my iced tea on my computer.  The kiddos came running.  See… it wasn’t just memorable to My Sweetie.  I impressed all kinds of males that Christmas.

So… as Christmas Day draws near… if you are shopping for someone special who is a tough cookie… go ahead and get him or her a hog hunting spear.

Trust me.

Or… maybe not.

I might not be the best Christmas Eve shopper.

Linking to the Hip Homeschool Hop.