[The Wisdom of a Distracted Mind] On My Mind...

So, what's rattling around inside my head this morning?

All sorts of things, I suppose.

Chiefly, I'm going to say that it's Christmas shopping that's bugging me this morning. I've only got one thing left to buy for one person, and for the last week or so, it's been driving me batty trying to wrap my mind around what to give the girlfriend/ex-girlfriend/friend thingy for Christmas.

Now, insofar as a huge part of me would like to get her a nice, attractively-wrapped, one-way ticket to some distant part of the world where Christmas celebrations usually involve a feast of grubs and freshly peeled tree bark, I do still like the girl, and I think she deserves something a little more meaningful and less exotic. Besides, I don't know if her passport is current or not. Plus, I think I'd kind of miss her.

I need to get her something useful... But, not as useful as handgun lessons or a gun club membership.

Yes. I'm a "live on the edge" sort of guy, but there's a definite, clear-cut line between what is considered a risky, edgy thrill and absolute, certain death. And, trust me, firearms and pointed objects would inevitably end with me bleeding to death on the kitchen floor and gasping with my precious last breath, "so, you like the chef's knives, honey?" Or, "why is there a diamond stud earring embedded in my forehead?"

Don't get me wrong. It's not like she's a homicidal maniac or anything. I just seem to have an effect on her. I've not quite worked out why, exactly, but from what I've been able to gather from her, it has something to do with my mouth and this thing I do where words come out.

Let's see... She's recently gotten back into baking. She's actually quite good at it, and she makes these sugar cookies which I once let slip were better than sex, and well... after that little quip, I don't think I'll ever see another sugar cookie again --much less be allowed to comment on the quality of one.

I was actually thinking of something a little odd and whacky, but fun. I could get her a big, honkin' mortar & pestle. Yes. It's a blunt object. Fortunately, I have a very thick skull which houses a very small brain. In fact, this skull of mine is almost bulletproof with its thickness. I could probably stop a runaway school bus with my forehead alone. So, I'm not afraid of giving a gift which may eventually lead to potential blunt-force trauma to the head. I can take it.

The thing is, I use my dinky, little mortar and pestle all the time. For example, anytime I cook with dried spices (which, considering I live in Wisconsin where spices refuse to grow upon the tundra for nine months out of the year, is quite often), I make a point to run 'em all through the masher until they're a nice, fine powder. You get more out of them that way, I think.

Now, I know what you're thinking, and it is a potentially lethal hunk of heavy granite. But, I think so long as I supply her with an endless supply of pesto recipes, spice mixes, dry rubs and sundry concoctions, the opportunity exists for her to work out whatever aggression or feelings of rage I may instill in her with my occasional slips of the tongue. And, not to sound selfish, but I'd rather have her mash a pile of basil, pine nuts, and garlic into an unrecognizable mass of mush than say, me.

Then again, she's a nice girl. And, I do like her a lot. And, I should buy her a gift based upon whatever feelings I have as opposed to my desire for self-preservation. Plus, things could get dicey if I get her something designed to go in the kitchen.

So, what else is there?

Jewelry's right out. After all, it's jewelry, I'm a guy, and no matter what I pick out, it will be wrong. When that happens, it starts with a small twitch upon her sweet, delicate, angelic face, followed by the part where lasers shoot from her eyes, and I start screaming in pain and fear as they burn their way through my forehead. To carve out her current perfect gift upon the soft, tender matter of my brain.

Honestly, I'm not willing to take that sort of gamble. I'm simply not secure enough in our relationship to feel safe in giving her some attractive bauble only to have her stand over a dusty pile of dessicated human remains saying "You chose... poorly," like the Grail Keeper in the last Indiana Jones movie. And, in the jewelry store, there are only two paths: The first is narrow, almost invisible, and it leads to a few items which can invoke instant happiness. The other is a wide, gaping, well-lit walkway that leads to 99.9% of the store and straight into certain death.

Robert Frost would tell me to take the one less traveled. However, Frost probably never stood at the business end of a raging psychopath.

Clothes?

No freakin' way.

Womens' sizes confused and baffle the bloody hell out of me and leave me gaping like a stunned trout. I have no clue how they come up with the wildly abstract math to define the myriad of sizes. Not even the Chinese could figure it out, and they pretty much invented math. And, if I get her something too small, she'll accuse me of thinking she has an eating disorder. If I get her something too large, well... I'm a dead man either way. I'd be safer juggling angry badgers.

You'd think a simple gift certificate would be good, right?

Well, you'd be wrong. Dead wrong. Actually, you'd pretty much just be dying from massive internal hemorrhaging as a result of having your kidneys kicked repeatedly while you cower and whimper in a ball upon the floor and the words "you... don't... know... me... at... all..." are shouted at you above your shrill, yet feeble, cries for help.

I could buy her a house, but in today's market that's just crazy. Plus, it's kind of hard finding that perfect little pile of bricks with a fireplace and a large enough yard to not only raise ponies and unicorns in, but also hide the bodies of me and whatever potential suitors may follow.

So, that's what I've been wracking my brain with lately. How do I diffuse this ticking bomb? There is one option. It could be a safe option as well. I could bury her beneath a mountain of cheap little things whose number is so great that it baffles and confuses her and serves as a distraction for the next twelve months while she tries to figure it out. It'll be like a fireworks display. She'll look at one thing, and before she can figure out the appropriate emotional response, another one will pop up until, in her confusion, the only words she can manage are "ooh," and "ahh!"

Brilliant! But, in the end, all I'm doing is just buying myself time. Still, it's another year I get to live.

-DP

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Posted By Dan to The Wisdom of a Distracted Mind at 12/13/2007 06:14:00 AM