Physical Therapists Eat Their Young

Okay, so I can’t prove that. But after today’s fun tug-n- pummel session on my neck, I am the lucky owner of a headache that is apparently too big for my head, and so is trying without success to pound its way out with a variety of large, heavy implements. I offered to give up the secret location of anything whatsoever, but no dice. So, in the name of distracting myself from the upshot of this dreadful behavior, I offer you the promised gift-buying guide for men to use when shopping for their wives. Equal time and all. You know.

Men: I know that many of you consider the cockpit of a Boeing 747 to be less complex than the woman in your life. I further know that buying a gift for the above mentioned woman can be terrifying and can involve strange stores with lots of pink things and perfumed air. Take a deep breath—it’ll be okay. I’m here to help. First, some clues that a gift may be just a tad misguided:

If it perfectly matches anything in your shop.
If your ex-girlfriend has one just like it….and it looked really hot on her.
If the woman who sold it to you has more than four unusual piercings, and you get a free piercing yourself if you buy just $10 more worth of merchandise from her.
If I would need to get 500ml breast implants in order to wear it.
If it IS 500ml breast implants.
If I will need to obtain a degree in engineering to assemble it, change the batteries in it, or get it to stop making that irritating noise.
If you think you might enjoy using it to annoy the cats.
If you bought it because you really wanted to find out what it does.
If the word “cleaning” is in any way used to describe what I might be expected to do with it. (Sorry guys, but think of it like investing. Say I have two hours to kill on a Saturday afternoon. I can use it to make a scarf or hat, or I can use it to make the bathroom clean. In three days, the scarf or hat will still be a scarf or hat. In the same three days, the bathroom will not only not still be clean; it will have graduated to filthy beyond my wildest expectations. Clearly, cleaning the bathroom is poor investment strategy.)
If it will “revolutionize” the way I think about cooking (the kitchen is messy enough. No revolutions, please).
If it slices, dices, and makes Juliann fries. We don’t even eat Juliann fries.
If you’ve never seen me wear anything like it, but figure showing a little more thigh can’t be bad.
If it is tickets to an event where I will be the only one without a beer belly.
If it came from the Gas-n-Go collection of fine jewelry.
If you purchased it at 7-11 at midnight on Christmas Eve (accept that if you have not shopped before midnight on Christmas Eve, the best gift is most assuredly no gift)
If it makes an amusing farting noise.
If it is nailed to a wooden plaque and sings anything whatsoever.
If I’ll need it out in the fishing boat or deer blind.
If it came free with a fill-up.
If it was in the “gifts for her” section of any store. No one actually knows who the “her” in “gifts for her” is, but you can be sure it isn’t me.
If it promises to simplify my life but has an instruction booklet with 150 pages written in 12 languages and features a support hotline.
If it’s a “fine fragrance” that happens to be sold by the quart.
If it is made of any fabric that glows in the dark.
If you’re pretty sure it won’t feel quite so scratchy once I’m wearing it.
If the guy on the album cover looks kind of like that singer I like but you can’t remember his name exactly.
If it has an attached grease catcher.
If you think your buddies would get a kick out of it.
If the accompanying literature promises to make me look 10 years younger. (Guys, do I need to tell you what’s wrong with that?)
If it will be the only pair of shoes I’ll ever need. (C’mon, that’s just wrong.)
If it’s a ball of yarn bigger than my head in neon acrylic that, amazingly, happened to be on a real good sale. Unless you have a burning desire for a neon acrylic sweater. Then it’s a fine gift.
If it was made by Ronco or Popeil, or was sold in an informercial by a guy with a bad fake suntan.

Disclaimer: Ms. Knitingale is acutely aware that the world is full of people with varying tastes, and the fact that she herself would not wish to receive any gift that could be worn in a duck blind does not imply anything about its value as a gift or about anyone who is aching to receive one. She asks you to remember that the above list reflects only her own personal tastes, however odd those may be.