How to Get What You Really Want

 

by Annie Lynch

 

As the holidays draw near, I am filled with a single, all-consuming question, and it's not, "How can I be a better person and spread good will towards man?" Nope, that was last year, before I opened my Christmas presents from my husband. The question on my mind now is, "What will my husband buy me and how much will I want to scream/cry when I open it?"

 

I know I shouldn't expect much from a man whose clothes I lay out for him every day, right down to the underwear and socks. I know he isn't the best with decisions. I've seen him struggle with a menu, trying to decide what to order, until he finally asks me to pick a number between one and three. I've helped create this sweet, caring, and utterly indecisive man.

 

I've figured out a few foolproof ways to ensure my spot under the Christmas tree will never again house 1. thinly-veiled gifts for him, such as the Brewman Deluxe Beermaker (I don't drink beer) or 2. sample-size toiletries from his last business trip. In the spirit of the holidays, I'd like to share the wealth of my information and save you from a fate worse than bargain-priced chocolates.

 

Short of outright telling my husband what I want, because then I might as well just buy it for myself and save the wrapping paper, I've come up with a repertoire of hints and clues to guide him to the perfect gift for me. It's a sly little system, but it will help keep my dignity somewhat intact and make my husband think he is a genius gift-giver.

 

I've found watching TV with my husband can be a great opportunity to thwart any unseemly gifts, as well as encourage appropriate trinkets of affection. Look at the following scenario:

 

Hubby and I sit on the couch, watching "Friends."

 

Phoebe bounces onto TV screen wearing a purple sweater.

 

Me: "I love Phoebe's sweater. Don't you think I would look good in a purple sweater?"

 

Hubby: "What?"

 

Me: "I love Phoebe's sweater. Don't you think I would look good in a purple sweater?"

 

Hubby: "Sure, hon."

 

Me: "I love purple, it reminds me of that grape soda you like so much."

 

Hubby: "I love that soda."

 

The beauty of this example is not only does my husband have a visual with which to remember the sweater (Phoebe on "Friends"), but he will also remember the conversation because I mentioned something in which he has interest (his grape soda).

 

His thought process will now sound not unlike this when shopping: "Gee, I'm getting thirsty running around this mall looking for presents. I sure could go for a grape soda, but I need to buy something for my lovely wife before- hey, wait a second, grape soda! My lovely wife said she would like a sweater the color of grape soda. Purple! Onwards, in search of the purple sweater!"

 

Of course, my husband is equipped with a list of my clothing sizes. Perhaps you would prefer writing on his forehead in indelible marker. Whatever works for you. Just don't kid yourself and think he'll remember if you tell him. Let us not forget this is the man who doesn't even know his own size half the time.

 

Here's another handy exercise:

 

Ask him what he wants, then find a way to incorporate your wish list.

 

Wife: "Honey, what would you like for (Insert holiday here) ?"

 

Husband: "I'd really like one of those back massagers you can lay on."

 

Wife: "That sounds nice. You could lay on the couch and watch TV, and I could cuddle up next you, maybe under one of those nice chenille throws. You on your massager, me with an off-white chenille throw wrapped around me. Off-white would match the couch."

 

This is the subtle approach. Not all men may be ready for it, but it beats begging.

 

If you feel your husband/boyfriend is unable to handle the above scenarios, you can always go with The List. Give him a roster of ten desirable stores and tell him to pick five and buy from there. Don't forget to star your five favorites. Remember, even with no receipt, there's always store credit. Happy Holidays!

 

Honey, if you're reading this, I love a good book and I don't like to make sausage. Ever. Not even for special occasions.*

 

*See, I use every possible opportunity to get something in there. That's your final lesson.

 

About the author: Annie Lynch is a freelance writer with a background in film and literature. She can be reached at anniedig@hotmail.com.