I absolutely love Christmas time. Fewer things bring more pleasure to my heart. The socks nailed to the mantelpiece. The merry crackle of the festive log in the hearth. Or in our case, the merry crackle of the kameeldoring trees as they festively burn under the fearsome Natal sun. The sound of the children drowning each other in the pool. The promise of too much good food and drink on Christmas Day. The hope that Father Christmas will somehow manage to fit that Mazda 2 I once alluded to down the chimney and into my sock. It’s all so domestic and pleasant and serves to reassure that no matter how terrible the world gets, it can’t get worse than overdone turkey.
Despite what the statistics might say, we all know we’re a nation of heathens and tree worshippers, and that the birth of baby Jesus isn’t why we celebrate Christmas any more. Oh no, it’s the prezzies that make us gather at gogo’s house every year end. Yes, I said it! It’s the hope of material accumulation that ensures we keep this day faithfully every year. Here’s the problem, though. In receiving gifts, you acknowledge the reciprocal duty to do the same for the giver of said gift. This obviously means you have to go shopping for gifts. Shopping. In December. Someone kill me now.
You can’t just walk into the convenience store at the garage on the 23rd and get something practical for your wife, like say, toilet paper. There’s a considerable amount of thought that must go into each person’s present. On top of all that dangerous thinking (it’s too much hazardous introspection and head scratching, rather than alcohol and carelessness that causes the high spike in traffic accidents around December time. Wait, I’m only joking. I can feel the disapproving frowns of our traffic cops. I wouldn’t want any misunderstandings with the fuzz) all your gifts cannot cost more than the R934 in Woolworths vouchers that someone gave you for your birthday in November.
*So you’ll understand that it was with much fear and trepidation that I entered the Woolworths store to do my Christmas shopping. Fortunately, I was accompanied by a wise friend. Let’s call him Professor, to acknowledge just how wise he is. I was going to get a gift for yet another friend, and the Professor had volunteered to descend from his ivory towers to help me. Only a certain amount of pride prevented me from kissing his feet in gratitude. I approached the girl at the perfumes counter having absolutely no idea what I’d get my friend.
The girl was called Fatima. She was reassuringly short, with that thin nose and lips that dares you to say something bad. I was going to have to tidy my manners up a great deal to get anywhere with her.
“Morning.” I said. “I’m looking to buy a gift for a friend. What would you recommend? It’s a man in his late twenties, 5 foot 6. Engaged, has a promising future in investment banking. He’s unfussy and appreciates simplicity in his life. So, a pair of socks?”
I could see my attempt at cleverness was falling on deaf ears. Before Fatima could be say something laconic and cutting, the Professor interjected.
“Socks? Socks?! It’s your friend for heaven’s sake, not your grandfather,” he said.
“Well, I don’t know! What does one get for a friend as a Christmas gift?” I was truly in above my head.
Fatima saw her opportunity and interjected. “Why don’t you buy him an eau de toilette?”
“A what?” I wasn’t being funny. I really didn’t know. Fatima looked at me as if I was the one being obtuse.
“A deodorant. Here, I’d recommend the Elite, part of the Designer Collection,” she offered, handing the deodorant to me. The Professor snatched it out of my hands and inspected the sides of the box.
“It’s made in Germiston! What do the people on that side of Joburg know about deodorants? And what’ll your mate think of you, buying him a spray made in Germiston? No, I’m sorry. This won’t do. Can we try something else?”
I was beginning to regret the Professor’s help. Fatima gave the Professor another boxed deodorant. “That’s the Endangered eau de toilette. It’s Avroy Shlain. Endangered is a sensual chypre that explores the breadth and depth of masculinity with notes of citrus and bergamot, underscored by herbal spiciness. Provocative florals lend a certain tenderness to this powerful fragrance.”
Well, evidently she’d been on a wine-tasting course. Professor wasn’t as impressed. “That’s what’s written on the side,” he said.
Fatima was unfazed. She nodded indifferently. Relief thudded in my head as the Professor considered the Endangered at length. Maybe I’d still be able to go home with my sanity intact. He finally reached a verdict. “It’s too expensive.” I wanted to know what he meant by that. “Well, how close are you to this friend of yours? Pretty close? Closer than his mum? I thought not. Well, if you buy him this for Christmas, you run the risk of one-upping the people closer to him than yourself, thereby causing untold awkwardness during gift-opening. Your gift can’t be too expensive.”
We went back and forth like this for the better part of fifteen minutes, with me suggesting something, and the Professor shooting it down for being too cheap, or too feminine, or too expensive, or too gaudy. Finally the Professor shrugged in dramatic exasperation. “Well dude, we’ve been through most of the store, and you can’t seem to make up your mind about what to get your friend for Christmas. Just pick something!”
“Like what?!” I shouted. “You’ve shot down every single suggestion I’ve had!”
“Something appropriate, dude. Come on, use initiative.”
“I don’t know, man. Had I known Christmas shopping is such a headache, I wouldn’t have bothered! I really don’t know what to get him! Socks?!”
If you have any useful gift suggestions, you’re more than welcome to share them with me. Alternatively, you can follow me on Twitter here: @SiphoH, though I tend to be less daft there.
*Alas, the following part of this column is a figment of my imagination. I’m still putting off my Christmas shopping, mainly because my birthday was in July and I’ve long since spent that Woolies voucher. The Professor also only exists in my head. Having a lengthy and spirited argument over Christmas gifts with oneself only goes to show something, but I’m not sure what at this stage.yejaundicedeye@gmail.com
Why don’t we just give each other big HUGS and forget the greed of “Christmas”?
I feel you on the whole Christmas thing Sipho. I absolutely love Christmas but the shopping is an absolute schlep. There’s nothing that I find disheartening more than people who you suppose should know you well enough getting you stuff that you really don’t like. I tend to agonise over whether people will really like my gifts so I’ll mill around the shop aisles taking stuff and changing my mind for hours. My dad is the worst when it comes getting a gift for… unfortunately for him, because it’s always such a tough decision choosing what to get him, he’ll be getting socks and a new tie 1nce again
What about toilet paper with the person’s name printed on each square? Or a thought of the day? Practical and personal, you win!
I say we buy an apocalyspse. We’ll get it anyway but this way we look stylish doing it.
hehehe…nice read Sipho. I hate shopping centres, and I’m not christian (I celebrate boxing day..hehehehe), but I’ve found a solution.
It’s called: “Girlfriend”!! Dude, you would not believe me when I tell you that I haven’t had to shop for a single gift for my family, as she has taken it upon herself to get the gifts.
There is one drawback though, I have to find her a gift, and not just a gift, something “SPECIAL” well thought out and not too cheap..
but, it still beats having to find suitable gifts for the family!!
Thankfully my friends and I have an unspoken agreement that we don’t exchange gifts. My brothers and I have a spoken agreement that we will not buy each other gifts for Christmas. That leaves only my mom and my SO, and it’s fairly easy to buy for them I’m glad to say.
@Po,
Hahahaha! I doubt my nearest and dearest would “get” it!
I like the Christmas Card I received from the Landover Baptist Church (http://www.landoverbaptist.org/).
It reads “Accept Baby Jesus this Christmas – or burn in Hell for Ever!”
Buy something for the destitute for a change, and take your friend with to hand over the gifts.
Your friend does not need the gift as much as those people…………… think about it
If you must spend money, try a book token.
I get my son something every year and he always wants to get me something (but sometimes the road to hell, etc). He can woo me with tea in bed and 30 minutes’ silly conversation that leaves us both in fits of laughter. I’m fixing the crank and chain (I think) on his bike this year, because it’s either that or he walks all next year!
Bar that, I don’t do Christmas presents, only wishes.
But Christmas really should be all about peace and goodwill, whether or not you are religious. None of us really spends enough time savouring the gratitude we should have for all we do (have) and
bearing in mind those less fortunate, who don’t have. If you don’t believe me, try it. You’ll find the season far more rewarding.
If you can spare more than a thought for those with too little: if they can afford to eat, try school stationery or uniforms, etc. But large families always appreciate food or money, even if you think it’s boring. The thing with money is, it gives the recipient dreams and decisions to make…
Oh, and a blessed Christmas season, safe journeys and much happiness to you all.
if you can’t think of anything and don’t want to get that blank stare after someone’s just opened your prezzie that screams ‘WTF’ – you can’t go wrong with cold hard cash