Need help with Christmas shopping? Here’s what not to get

Time fir rare gift shopping

Gifts. Who knows what to give to who? For one I suggested ties, which the guy will eventually need, or with everyone sneezing then maybe just handkerchiefs, which he’ll need immediately.

“Buy something he doesn’t have,” friends suggested. Socks? Black socks? A solid gold toothpick — what?! A solid gold toothpick he hasn’t got, right? “No,” sniffed my listeners. He hasn’t one. Wouldn’t want one.

One friend went for a rare book. Nothing he’d have two of. Like real rare. Title? “Arithmetic and How It Is Practiced in Five Different Countries.” For sure he didn’t have two of these. This Hindu plumber can now equate a parabola geometrically in Swedish and Afrikaans. God knows when his new information will prove invaluable. I once gave this to a faraway friend, told him that if a question comes up and the category’s Arabian algebra just know that because of my farsighted gift, his grandmother’s washing machine would once again wash. Maybe. (Which it didn’t.)

A jolly two-shoes  

Another gift idea? A 5-foot-10 shoehorn for people to slip into their shoes from the top rung of a ladder. For sure something the giftee wouldn’t have two of. The problem this poses is where does one place it? Return it — how? Closet it — where? Use it — when? Put it in the guy’s closet and there’s no more room for him.

Why is every package you place in the “Let’s Exchange This” pile bought wholesale? And can’t be returned. And every piece you wrap nicely always indelibly monogrammed with something else. Why?

Getting boxed-in  

One longtime friend decided no more candles or notepads. He’d select a novelty item. Something I positively didn’t have. Like maybe a new address book for the name of the brand-new friend I hoped to make so I could replace him.

He strode along Fifth. Beeline straight for Tiffany’s. Took the elevator past the second floor. Sashayed past thousands of shiny objects like rings, watches, earrings, necklaces, jewels, pearls, keys, charms, ignored dozens of eager salespeople, stopped dead at one lone unloved counter. Then pointed to a small object, fingered it, breathed on it, shined it, had it gift-wrapped, monogrammed, prayed over — and sent to me.

My excitement succeeded my wedding night. The packaging dictated it wasn’t earrings so I already liked him less. I wondered if this maybe was the joy Audrey Hepburn had in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

Ecstatically I tore it open. I ripped away the tissue paper, unrolled the felt covering, put on gloves to not mar the perfect metal, delicately fingered the object — and there it lay. A sterling silver — engraved with my name — untouched, unwanted, unneeded lemon meringue pie cutter. Me thrilled? Not exactly. I’m not ungracious or anything, but my idea of an afternoon break is tea and an Oreo.

So if someone craves a sterling silver lemon meringue pie cutter engraved with C.A. and wants to exchange it for peanut butter and two Oreos, you know where to find me. I’m flexible, though, you can just send the cookies.

But don’t wait. Mails are slow. The post office is having delivery problems. Deliveries so difficult that there’s one letter carrier whose wife is now in her 12th month.

So, listen, pay attention, now you know how cranky old overweight Santa is — with his empty closet bearing just one loud suit — see how he feels knowing it’s a whole world of takers, and no givers. Not even a decent tailor.

However, he could find one — but only in New York, kids, only in New York.