An idiot's guide to shopping can make Christmas stress-free

James Miller Miller on Tap

Everybody either is or knows a Christmas Idiot.

Your lunatic great aunt who sends you a $5 check and an illegible card every year is a Christmas Idiot. The guy who buys his wife unsolicited exercise equipment is a Christmas Idiot. The year that your mother gave you socks, wool longjohns and a calculator, she had a fit of Christmas Idiocy. (How do I know so much about your mother? You probably shouldn't ask.)

I used to be a Christmas Idiot. I know what it's like to buy tacky jewelry for every female on your list, the kind of jewelry that is almost automatically doomed to a life in the bottom of a bathroom drawer. From books your dad never reads to kitchen supplies your mom never uses, I've given them all.

But I like to think I've cleaned up my act. People no longer wince as they open packages with my name on them, and most of my family is speaking to me again. In my role as a kind of AA sponsor to the Gift Impaired, the following is a brief explanation of how to have a happy and fruitful materialistic Christmas.

For mom. This one is always the most difficult because mothers never ask for things that are fun to buy. One year, my mom actually asked for a butter dish. We asked her why she wanted a butter dish, when we would be happy to get her whatever self-indulgent present she wanted. She just said, "Well, I need a butter dish."

So this is the problem. You never feel good about buying them what they ask for, and if you improvise, you worry about getting something stupid.

Bad: Miss Clairol, a membership in the Beer of the Month club, golf clubs and clothes from Lane Bryant.

Good: Come on, she's your mom. If she put up with and paid for you this long, she'll like, or pretend to like, whatever you get her. Just get the butter dish and start worrying about her birthday.

For your girlfriend. This one has killed more men than smallpox. I could name you, off the top of my head, at least three guys who have started major relationship wars because they screwed up the Christmas present. Bad presents purchased for girlfriends are the stuff of legend and anecdote.

In this case, the issue that needs to be addressed directly is the Big Lingerie Question. And, I'm ashamed to admit, this one is too hard for me.

There are no set rules. If you want to go to lace country, I can't help you. Let me just say this: do not overestimate her size. She'll suspect either you think her ass really is that big, or you have a fat mistress with more discriminating tastes than her.

Bad: Sex toys (no return policy), track cleats, "Greatest Hits" from NFL films, roach clips, a copy of "Thin Thighs in 30 Days," cookbook, chastity belt, fishing tackle.

Good: Stuff you can't afford.

- Boyfriend. Ladies, I can't help but think you have this a lot easier than we do. Unless you're a lesbian. There's really no mystique to buying a gift for your man. For women, buying the perfect present without asking for hints is a mark of skill, an example of their vaunted communications skills.

To ask a woman what she wants for Christmas practically begs the response "If you really loved me you'd know what I want." For men, this little game really doesn't mean that much. We don't care. Ask a man what he wants, and if it's under the tree on Christmas morning, he's happy.

Bad: Enya CDs, a subscription to Redbook, "Our Bodies, Ourselves," matching sweaters, his and hers anything.

Good: Anything you would probably hate. I'm not sure why this is a good rule but it seems to work. Example: Would you like a series of Big Ten beer steins? Now, as you just wrinkled your face in disgust, at the same time, 10 guys somewhere on this campus just said "Hey, cool!" Good luck.

- Professors. That's a toughie. It depends on what use he or she is to you at the time. The wrong gift to a professor who still holds part of your life in their hand may look unprofessional.

Greeting him first thing in the morning at his house, after just washing his car and painting his trim may move you into that Mark David Chapman category, which is not good.

To err in the other direction may insult them. Try and imagine your crusty, tenured old fart of a classics professor being wowed into submission by the complete set of McDonald's "Flubber" cups.

Grade or recommendation pending: Cuban cigars, cognac, call girl.

Bad grade or recommendation turned in: Wal-Mart gift certificate, jar of broken glass, syphilis.

- James Miller can be reached over e-mail at jamespm@umich.edu

12-10-97