Christmas shopping is a good way to get grumpy and hungry

First, let me say, “Grumble.”

I wanted to start with the proper tone so you would know where I’m coming from.

Every family has their own way of dealing with Christmas shopping. Herself and I have developed a system which runs as smoothly as ball bearings on ice.

We drive to the stores, chatting happily in spite of turgid Seattle traffic-–– and then immediately go our separate ways.

She knows exactly what she is looking for, owing to the inexplicable fact that she knows what people on our list would actually enjoy or use.

Being clueless, I retire to the food court in search of the fine cuisine I have come to enjoy from the many fine establishments there. Maybe a nice hotdog smothered in chili, onions and jalapenos. Or a steaming plate of feng shui.

Once ensconced at my tiny table, surrounded by hundreds of famished shoppers, I hunker down with The Mirror and a few other papers to catch up on the news, all the while knowing Herself is scurrying relentlessly through the mall. Selecting precisely the right things.

After a suitable interval of much-needed relaxation, I leave my table to go in search of Herself. It rarely takes long to find her. I use a really good search technique: Just look for a woman piled high with packages like the Volkswagen Beetle in Ikea advertisements.

We then spend 20 or 30 minutes shopping together. That’s the hard part. She points out a pink sweater and asks if I like the finish. I nod. Nodding is good. Saves a lot of discussion, most of which I won’t understand anyway.

As it happens, nodding also makes me hungry. So I escape again to the food court. This time I’m likely to be looking for something unusual. A plate of feng, please hold the shui. Monster serving of mashed potatoes with a big dollop of cottage cheese on top instead of gravy.

When Herself later finds me eyeing the food stall serving small snacks, we have a very short discussion. I nod some more. In fact, I nod a lot.

I drop her off at the trendy restaurant up the street from the mall and return. The chief of security directs me to the large holding pen they reserved for Herself’s packages. I spend a couple of hours hauling stuff out to the box van we rented.

When we get home, I hole up in my slovenly office, checking current interest rates on second mortgages.

Just think of us as a pair of ball bearings on ice. Merry Christmas to all. (The hell with the controversy about that greeting.)

Loren Fairman is a freelance humor writer living in the Federal Way-Kent area.