W
hat do you want for
Christmas?”
“Nothing.”
“Stop it, darling.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“Don’t be such a Scrooge.”
This is phase one of the gift-giving relationship.
Marriage: the early years. Everyone plays the game ...
they pretend to pretend they don’t want anything
because everyone likes giving presents and no one likes
receiving them. Fact. Then, because love is tender, the
husband buys perfume/jewellery and the wife buys
a drill bit kit/a thing to keep the bubbles in sparkling
wine. And all is well with the world.
Except all the presents for men encourage either
alcoholism or DIY injuries and all the presents for
women involve making them more appealing. Which
is very bad and probably sexist, and what self-respecting
couple would need to keep the bubbles in a bottle of
cava? What couple drinks only half a bottle?
Phase two is more annoying. The honeymoon
is over. Maybe more expensive presents will help?
“Really, I’m fine.”
“Don’t be such a Scrooge.”
But now it’s £200 headphones for him and a
£200 spa day for her. But secretly we’d both rather
have put £400 towards the mortgage, wouldn’t
we, darling? Darling? Oh, she’s gone to the spa.
Phase three. Veterans. Lust has turned to love,
wild weekends in Paris have turned to rain-drenched
tenting holidays in Devon and the idea of a crazy
night out involves three courses — three! — at the
local pub without the children. This is the time when,
inexplicably, some husbands and wives start trying to
improve each other’s lives through the medium of gifts.
For her a yoga retreat (not a gym membership, never a
gym membership). For him a sourdough masterclass.
Round the corner from my office there’s a bakery thatruns courses for beginners. In the bleak months after
Christmas it’s full of awkward middle-aged men trying
to make croissants because their wives weren’t ready
for the gifted socks phase of the relationship.
Phase four: socks.
“Don’t be such a Scrooge.”
“I could do with some new socks.”
I think most couples reach this stage eventually.
It’s a diplomatic solution to the horror of gift-giving.
It enables the exchange to continue but without the
artifice and the waste. The wife tells the husband
precisely which brand and flavour of bath oil/mascara/
self-emptying robot vacuum cleaner she wants. The
husband says “socks”. Superficially it’s not romantic.
Superficially it’s barely half a step beyond wrapping
him some teabags and her some cotton buds. But deep
down it shows true, unconditional love. It says, darling,
we mean more to each other than stuff under a tree. As
Shakespeare said: “Love looks not with the eyes, but
with the mind, and therefore winged Cupid has gone
to the Sainsbury’s homewear section.”
It is possible that Harriet feels differently (she
doesn’t) but I really have reached the stage where
I don’t want any presents at all. I look at the Gifts
for Men listicles that fill the ether at this time of
year and pray that no one is buying me a £
scarf. I have a scarf. I never wear it. The only time it
comes out is when we’re panic-foraging a shepherd
costume for yet another nativity. A whisky decanter?
The whisky comes in a bottle that I’ve always found
adequate. A back massager? Nurofen.
No man wants a solar-powered phone charger
or some stones that work like ice cubes or a device
that plays soothing music for eight minutes to help
you go to sleep. The music isn’t soothing. It’s terrifying.
It’d be better to play a recording of someone shouting:
“Go to sleep, you silly insomniac.” I don’t want a beer
subscription or a magnetic wrist band for holding screws
or a personalised AirPods case. Or anything personalised.
Who am I? Bertie Wooster? And you got me that thing
that finds my car keys last year. And I’ve lost it.
All of which sounds a little grumpy for such a magical
time of year. But it’s not. I promise, socks are fine. And
the sooner we stop filling the attic with stuff we
pretended to love, the merrier. Mind you, that electric
barbecue looks fun n
CHARLIE CLIFT FOR THE SUNDAY TIMES MAGAZINE. ALAMY @mattrudd
MATT RUDD
No man wants a
solar-powered phone
charger or stones that
work like ice cubes
She gets bath oil, I get drill bits.
Let’s call the whole thing off
Why do we buy our loved ones Christmas presents they don’t want?
The Sunday Times Magazine • 5Banca do Antfer
Telegram: https://t.me/bancadoantfer
Issuhub: https://issuhub.com/user/book/
Issuhub: https://issuhub.com/user/book/