Now that another Thanksgiving is literally under my belt, I guess I can’t put off Christmas shopping any longer.

Shopping for my son is simple. Come mid-November, my son points at just about every commercial on TV and says “I want that!” At this point, he’s asked for so many things I can’t possibly go wrong. When it comes to buying him gifts, I tend to go overboard and then wind up on Christmas Eve, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbon, trying to decide which of the excess can be held back until his birthday in March. Somehow every year I talk myself out of putting some away, probably because I know I’ll just wind up over-shopping for his birthday, too.

The Venomous Hubby is far more difficult to shop for, however. Years ago, I’d started getting into the habit of taking note whenever he saw something that caught his fancy, then adding them to an Amazon gift list so I’d have a backlog of ideas: James Bond DVDs, video games, a TV tuner card for his computer, whenever he said he wanted something, I hunted it down and saved the link in the hope of making gift-giving a bit easier.

Unfortunately, I’ve somehow managed to buy him just about everything he’d expressed interest in this year, which means I have absolutely no idea about what else he wants! To make matters worse, his birthday is December 12, which means that I’ve been pleading for two days for him to come up with a Wish List.

The answer’s always the same: “Oh, I don’t know. I could use some slacks, I guess. Maybe a new tie or sweater?” Those are so boring, though. They’re “Dad Gifts”, and something within me refuses to give up seeing his face light up with surprise and delight when he opens his presents on Christmas.

So while I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what my husband secretly wants most of all, one answer has come to mind again and again: SEX. He is, after all, 100% male and a parent on top of that, both of which mean that as far as he’s concerned he never, ever, ever gets enough. I will begrudgingly admit that he might have a point.

Now, back when we first became parents, VH and I established one Christmas tradition that we’ve held onto steadfastly over the years: on Christmas Eve: after our son has finally — finally! — nodded off with visions of sugar plums dancing through his head (or, more likely, images of battles between toy soldiers and remote control miniature Abrams and Panzer tanks, since none of us have any clue what sugar plums are), we stay up and enjoy a few cups of spiked egg nog. Then we exchange a few special gifts so we can enjoy that “Wow” moment without it getting lost in the gift-opening carnage that starts the instant my son opens his first present Christmas morning.

Usually, the gifts we select to exchange on Christmas Eve are the most special ones, the ones we’ve spent the most time picking out for each other in the knowledge that they’re exactly what the other most wants. Last year he gave me a bottle of my favorite perfume, Chanel No. 5, and an autographed copy of a book by Anthony Bourdain. I gave him a hand-carved Meerschaum pipe and a vintage smoking jacket.

Then, of course, we had sex on the floor between the sparkling Christmas tree and the roaring fire. From what I remember, we both agreed it was perfect. Why mess with a good thing?

So this year I checked out an online adult site, Vibrator.com and browsed through the vast selection of sex toys. Talk about putting the Ho in the ol’ Ho, Ho, Ho! I had no idea there were so many different shapes, sizes and colors of vibrators!

But enough about me. I needed to find something for VH, so I bought a couple of erotic games, which are certain to light up his face and lead to that that “WOW!” moments since they ensure he’ll get what he really, really wants most: SEX, and lots of it.

Yes, folks, it truly is better to give than receive. But just barely.

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