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Tick tock, hubbies.

Less than 48 hours remain before Christmas Day. Ye men are finally taking your hands out of your pants and thinking, “Hmmm. Guess I should get out and do some shopping.” Gee, ya think? And for whom could you be doing this last-minute shopping? Let us guess. Your mom? No, can’t be her because we took care of that for you. (Act unsurprised when she opens the slippers.) How ’bout the kids? Nope, we did that too. Weeks ago. Before all the toys were gone, to ensure our sweet babies wouldn’t be disappointed on Christmas morning. (You’re welcome.) You have just one, measly name on your shopping list: OURS. And you’ve put it off till now, because who really gives a fuck if you can’t find the perfect gift; we’ll get over it, like we always do. No biggie. I mean, it’s not like we sacrificed our holes to give you a heir. It’s not like we produced a spare liver for when yours is thoroughly pickled.

Okay, okay, I kid, I kid. I’m not here to slap you around. I’m here to help you, to make sure the great gal in your life knows how much you appreciate her. Thing is, guys, we know you mean well; you just don’t quite know where to begin because, when it comes to us, you’re just not all that bright. And listen, we’re not perfect either. Half of us don’t even know where the windshield wash goes. Here’s the good news. You don’t have to spend a lot of money on us. (We’re spending all your money the other 364 days of the year anyway.) And you don’t need a lot of time. (Thank god, since it’s the 11th hour, buttmunch.) You need simple, solid ideas. Here are a few.

1. Get her a really cool mug. I’m not kidding. It’s a caffeine-fueled world. The missus needs a cup of joe to keep her from strangling you and your precious sucklings before 7:30 am every day, so this ain’t no mug; it’s a hand-held escape pod from the motherfuckery that is her life. It is a vessel of tranquility. It’s a crack pipe that won’t land her in the clink. And it’s a constant reminder of the person who gave it to her. So make it a good one. Don’t be stupid and get her a mug from the dollar store, unless you want her to think what a cheapskate you are every time she wets her whistle. HELLS TO THE NO. Get her a mug that’s as beautiful as she is, from a local potter (like Dove Pottery here in St. John’s) or from a downtown boutique (like the Newfoundland Weavery on Water Street) or from a bookstore (like Chapters, where the mugs and candles and pillows are easier to find than the fucking books). Maybe it has her initial on it. Maybe it’s locally made. Maybe it’s a Meatloaf mug because that’s the concert where you first touched her boobs. Whatever. This is an easy, inexpensive gift (yes, $25 for a really nice mug is a good deal, Ebenezer) that tells her to sit back and relax, because she deserves it, damn it. (Note: Throw in her favourite coffee or tea, a bottle of Bailey’s, and some quality chocolate and you’re laughin’.)

2. You MUST MUST MUST buy her a book. And I’m not just saying that because I wrote one, I swear. Giving her a book lets her know you think she’s smart. She’s not all clothes and jewelry – oh no, your bitch can read, yo! It also says you are smart. Any asshole can buy his woman earrings. It takes a real man to buy something that enriches the space between her ears. Get her a book that’ll make her laugh and it’s a win-win for both of you. Admit it…you wish she’d lighten up a little. So the funnier the book, the better. Here are a few suggestions:

Oh what have we here…MotherFumbler, written by…oh looky here…ME. I’d post the link so you can order it from Amazon or Indigo but unless those companies have enlisted the Concorde for deliveries, you’re screwed.

MotherFumbler_FRCVRweb_FAGo find it at your local bookstore. It’s all over Atlantic Canada, and since it’s selling so well here, it’s also now in major cities across Canada: Vancouver, Calgary, Toronto, Montreal, and Vagina, Sasnatchewan.

Other funny books me likey that she might likey too:

Mindy Kaeling’s Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?

Chelsea Handler’s Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang, or Are Your There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea.

Caitlin Moran’s How to Be a Woman

Bobbi French’s Finding Me In France

Tina Fey’s Bossypants

Claire Wilkshire’s Maxine

3. Give her a gift certificate to a nice restaurant. If you’re thinking Jungle Jim’s right now, you should be ravaged by piranhas then swallowed whole by an anaconda. I’m talking about somewhere you wouldn’t take the kids because, frankly, kids are jackasses and this classy place rightfully hates them. If you’re in St. John’s, think Raymond’s, Bianca’s, Portobello’s, Oliver’s, The Reluctant Chef, The Gypsy Tearoom, Basho, you get the idea. Somewhere where, if she walked in wearing that Au Coton sweatshirt she’s been hanging onto since the nineties, they’d skewer her on the spot. Gift cards are usually cop-outs, I know, but this is a little different. See, guys, in case you missed this fact, we love to eat. Unfortunately for your widdle wang, we would rather eat than do anything else on earth. When we say we love meat, we mean the stuff that comes from a cow or a pig or a lobster, not your pants. So a fantastic meal that we don’t have to cook, sans children shouting “This tastes like poop from a toilet!”, is a gift from the gods. And later, when we loosen our belt, it’s so we can breathe, not because we want your peach cockler for dessert. Just shut up and feed us.

4. Throw in a bottle of suntan lotion. If you’re rich, you give her a trip to France. If you’re moderately wealthy, you give her a weekend getaway at a B&B. If you’re broke like the rest of us, you give her a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic. Something that says: “How ‘bout me and you get outta this one-horse town, little darlin’. Maybe next year or the year after that, when we save up our loonies and toonies.” You can’t afford it right now because you spent all your money on the ungrateful spawn, but next year, or the following year…oh yeah baby, some three-star resort on an island somewhere is gonna see your snow-white asses jiggling side by side. That’s not a bottle of sunblock, fool. That’s a can of hope.

5. No thigh masters. Please. Unless your lady is a fitness freak already, do not buy her exercise clothes or a gym membership. The only thigh master in her life should be you. Rub those juicy hams, bitch. Look, we ladies hate our bodies. It’s what we do. We don’t need overpriced Lululemon crap to remind us there’s room for improvement. So, especially at this time of year, just let us know you’re okay with us the way we are. (Please see tip #3: feed us.) When 2014 arrives, we’ll be dragging our fast asses to the gym on our own terms, not yours, zippy.

6. For the love of god NO VACUUMS. Also, no cleaning supplies, aprons, or feather dusters. If you give us a mop or a broom — first of all, good luck wrapping that thing. Second of all, it’s going straight into your rectum. It’s almost 2014, people; the housekeeping is a shared task. So unless you want a box of dishwasher pellets in your stocking, don’t give it to her either. HOWEVER! I highly recommend the gift of housekeeping services. My cleaning angel, Angela, completes me. So go get your own cleaning person, put a big bow on her (or his) head, and prepare to go down in history as the best giver of gifts (and receiver of blowjobs) of all time. But be careful. Since cleaning is not “her job”, this is really a gift for both of you. So you’re gonna need several other gifts from this list to compensate. Get crackin’.

7. Kitchen gadgets are good. (But some restrictions apply.) Only give her a kitchen gadget – you know, a fancy mixer, or a can opener that turns into a back scratching vibrator – if it makes her life easier. Or if it’s cool as fuck — like, invented in the last 10 minutes.

Like these onion goggles, to protect her eyes while slicing and dicing.

thIf she cries while cutting onions and wearing these onion goggles, it’s probably not the onions. It’s this terrible, terrible gift you just gave her. Which brings me to a very important point: It’s okay to give kitchen gadgets as long as it’s not the ONLY thing you give her.

Denise: Hey Cheryl, what’d Ron give you for Christmas?

Cheryl:  Earrings, a mixer, a gift certificate to Oliver’s, and a really cool mug. What’d Mike give you?

Denise: Onion goggles.

Cheryl: Ha ha, funny. And…?

Denise: Onion goggles.

8. Bubble bath is underestimated. If the missus like bubble baths, get her the good stuff. Maybe something organic, like Blueberry Vanilla Parfait from Tval on Water Street. No cheap shit like Mr. Bubble, unless you relish stabby glares from across the living room. See, bubble bath is not just soap in a bottle. It’s titillating tonic that says: I love your body and I want you to marinate like the delicious tenderloin you are. (Note: bubble bath is best accompanied by a gift certificate to the spa. Just sayin’.)

9. Grow some balls and buy her a sweater. You don’t have a damn clue what she likes or what’ll fit those bajongas, but give it a shot, big guy. Be bold. She’ll think your attempt is adorable, even if the sweater is hideous. But get a gift receipt for the love of god. And avoid things that look like this:
137500594844452440cRvwMCVBc10. Diamonds are not her only best friend. She also loves wine, chocolate, shoes, cheese, and wine. But back to jewelry for a sec. Gold and diamonds are not the only materials worthy of touching your luvva’s skin. In fact, some of those genuine (and genuinely pricey) jewels are downright HUGGLY. Fuck that gaudy shit at Bogart’s, my frugal brutha. This ain’t the set of Dynasty, eh b’y. Check out the work of jewelry-makers who use bronze, brass, pewter, even leather, to make one-of-a kind necklaces and bracelets and earrings. If you’re in St. John’s, try Johnny Ruth and Urban Planet on Water Street. Or drop by the jewelry counter of my second home, Winners, where special bling-a-lings pop up from time to time. But don’t buy anything posing as something else. Brass is good because it’s clearly brass and not posing as gold, but cubic zirconia is trying to fake it as a diamond. No cubic zirconia, dude. You don’t have to pay a fortune, but you gotta keep it real.

11. Put some lip-gloss in her stocking. Ask the cosmetics queen at Shoppers Drug Mart to help you. You want the good stuff — pale pink or coral. It’s like pre-lube for your beef whistle. Not really. Just get it. You know you like watching her glide her finger across her lips, even if she is just juicing them up so cookies slide down more easily.

12. Make her a card. Yes, I’m serious. You don’t have to be the love child of Shakespeare and Picasso to pull this off. It can be a piece of paper folded in half. Or buy a blank card — you know, one of those with a picture on the front but nothing on the inside — and personalize it. We don’t really give a fuck. Just knowing you put an ounce of thought into it means a lot, instead of buying a store-bought verse that thousands of other wives are reading right this second too. My dad once gave Mom a store-bought card that said “You’re just like a mother to me.” Not only did he not put any thought into the card; he didn’t even read it. Oh Dad.

Remember the second Bachelorette? I know, neither do I, that show is totes lame and so beneath me. But according to reports, Ryan, one of the contenders for Bachelorette Trista’s heart, wrote her poems. They were nothing to write home about, but they were sweet, funny, and helped him win her heart. Ryan and Trista got married and had two kids. They are the only couple from the Bachelor/Bachelorette franchise to last. Now, if you can barely write your own name on a cheque let alone a goddamn poem, Google is here to help you. Search for “love poems” or “love quotes” or just “funny lines about marriage”. Pick something that feels right. Now, take a pen (remember what those are?) and write it down — on the piece of folded paper, or on the blank greeting card. Use your own handwriting. Put a heart next to it. Sign your name with love. Now go wash your junk because good things are coming to you, Romeo.

13. Make her laugh. If your card (see tip #12) is funny, you’re home-free already. Otherwise, do what my husband does every Christmas: once he has my stocking filled with the things he’s bought, he fills up the rest of the available space with things I already own, like underwear, socks, condoms, oranges from the fridge, and canned goods from the cupboard. Cracks me up every time. It’s amazing how laughter can make you forget all about the fact that he bought all this shit like five minutes ago.

Happy last-minute shopping, fellas. YOU CAN DO IT. And by the way, you’ll need an iPad mini to go with any or all of the above.

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