You've just got to love what our men manage to pull off the week before Christmas. Why do they wait till the last minute? Having finished my shopping weeks ago, I do enjoy hanging out at the local shops watching men desperately toss odd items into heavy laden shopping baskets.

In fact, just the other day, I decided to stalk a middle-aged man who looked completely overwhelmed. He headed for the feminine hygiene aisle. I guess he figured it was as good as place as any to start his mission. Two red-faced seconds later, he darted for the cosmetic counter.

I leaned in to eavesdrop. <continued below>

"Can you tell me what to get my wife for her stocking?"

"Well," she said, "tell me a little bit about her."

"She's um, I think thirty-nine. No. She's thirty-seven. And, she's about this tall."

"Okay, that's a start. What's her eye and hair colour?"

"When?"

"Pardon me?"

"Well, in the summer she's kinda blonde and in the winter she goes kinda red."

"Oh, so she dyes her hair..."

"Really? Gee, I guess that makes sense."

"How long have you been married, sir?"

"Twenty, uh? No, eighteen years."

I could listen no more. This man was married to a woman just like me. So far she was going to open her stocking on Christmas morning only to find a pack of panty liners and a cheap set of eye shadow. Was I going to discover the same pathetic assortment? It was too painful to watch, but, just like driving by a bad accident, I found myself looking.

With newfound confidence in his steps, he attacked the housewares department with a vengeance. A few dozen spatulas later, he stood in line at the cashier beaming. It was obvious he had incredible faith in his purchases. It was a sad, sad thing to witness...

The cashier said not a word but went straight to her work,
And filled all the orders, then turned to the jerk,
And laying his finger along side his nose,
And giving a nod, up the queue line he rose.

He sprang to his wallet, to the sum gave a whistle,
And away the twenties flew like the down of a thistle,
And I heard him exclaim ere he walked out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!

I hope you mothers have a wonderful holiday. And remember, if you're like me, the best gift you'll find Christmas morning will be found in the love and smiles on the faces of your family. And not in the toe of your stocking...

Copyright Hope Forrest. Visit her site. Comments? Hope would love to hear from you! Email the author.