Bringing Christmas to light

Now that the big day has passed, I can tell you what I got my wife for Christmas: an idea.

Yes, an idea. A big ol' heaping helping of brain surging, topped off with an imaginary bow.

Perhaps some explanation is needed. (Editor's note: You think?) It all started when I went shopping about a week before Christmas. I do my shopping thusly: I postpone, postpone, postpone and then decide to bite the bullet and go on a mad Christmas shopping spree that takes about two hours but gets everything done.

I was in a store, browsing about for that perfect something, when I found exactly what my wife would want: lamps. Now before you award me Romantic of the Year, let me present my defense: A while back, my wife said she wanted lamps. And these were fine lamps.

For some reason, I decided to call my sister, who is a voice of reason. Something inside me said, "Mike, call a voice of reason."

So I had this conversation:

ME: I think I need you to go Christmas shopping with me.

HER: Why?

ME: I'm about to buy lamps.

HER: Don't buy her lamps.

ME: They're nice lamps.

HER: Stop. Now.

So I passed on the very nice lamps and agreed to meet my sister later for something less lampy. That evening, my wife asked me how my shopping went. At that point, I had to tell her about the lamp almost purchase. Little did I know that I had just given my wife her Christmas idea.

The next day, my wife came in beaming. "Guess what I got!?!?!!?"

"Uh, ESP? Tuberculosis? Scurvy?" (I'm terrible at the guessing game.)

"Lamps!"

I stared blankly back at her, because as nice as lamps may be, they've never actually made me giddy.

"Lamps! I got some lamps! Do you want to wrap them or can I go ahead and put them up?"

Far be it from me to ruin the Christmas miracle of new lamps. "Oh, go ahead and put them up. And Merry Christmas!"

Now, I know that many of you out there think I am about the worst husband/gift-giver on the planet. And you may be right. But my wife and I settled on something very early on: Honesty. If my wife wants something, expects something, needs something, she tells me. She doesn't assume that I can read minds or guess emotions. I can't. I don't even try.

One of the last things you will ever hear my wife tell me is "You should have known." She knows I don't know. Maybe she is thinking, "Tonight, I'd like to curl up on the couch and watch a movie." And there is absolutely no chance that I will pick up on that. Why? Because the one thing that is playing in my head at the moment is the blurb in Sports Illustrated about the passing of Negro League star Double Duty Radcliffe, who had "Thou Shalt Not Steal" written on his chest protector. I don't know why, but it struck me as funny, and is on continuos loop. And the only way to get it off the loop is for her to make eye contact with me and say, "Tonight, I'd like to curl up on the couch and watch a movie."

So I feel fairly confident that if she wanted, say, jewelry, she would say, "I want jewelry." And when she said she wanted lamps, she really meant that she wanted lamps. (My sister later told me the main reason she wanted me not to buy the lamps was that she feared I would be buying something akin to the leg lamp in "A Christmas Story." So she was questioning my taste, not my judgment.)

And in answer to the inevitable question, yes, I did get her something besides a self-selected lamp set. And upon seeing the ear rings I got her, she asked who picked them out for me. Apparently everyone thinks I have bad taste.

In all, it was a fine Christmas with some fine lamps, and I am just happy that my wife is happy. And that's a good idea.