What to buy for the birthday of baby Jesus?

I absolutely love Christmas time. Fewer things bring more pleasure to my heart. The socks nailed to the mantelpiece. The merry crackle of the festive log in the hearth. Or in our case, the merry crackle of the kameeldoring trees as they festively burn under the fearsome Natal sun. The sound of the children drowning each other in the pool. The promise of too much good food and drink on Christmas Day. The hope that Father Christmas will somehow manage to fit that Mazda 2 I once alluded to down the chimney and into my sock. It’s all so domestic and pleasant and serves to reassure that no matter how terrible the world gets, it can’t get worse than overdone turkey.

Despite what the statistics might say, we all know we’re a nation of heathens and tree worshippers, and that the birth of baby Jesus isn’t why we celebrate Christmas any more. Oh no, it’s the prezzies that make us gather at gogo’s house every year end. Yes, I said it! It’s the hope of material accumulation that ensures we keep this day faithfully every year. Here’s the problem, though. In receiving gifts, you acknowledge the reciprocal duty to do the same for the giver of said gift. This obviously means you have to go shopping for gifts. Shopping. In December. Someone kill me now.

You can’t just walk into the convenience store at the garage on the 23rd and get something practical for your wife, like say, toilet paper. There’s a considerable amount of thought that must go into each person’s present. On top of all that dangerous thinking (it’s too much hazardous introspection and head scratching, rather than alcohol and carelessness that causes the high spike in traffic accidents around December time. Wait, I’m only joking. I can feel the disapproving frowns of our traffic cops. I wouldn’t want any misunderstandings with the fuzz) all your gifts cannot cost more than the R934 in Woolworths vouchers that someone gave you for your birthday in November.

*So you’ll understand that it was with much fear and trepidation that I entered the Woolworths store to do my Christmas shopping. Fortunately, I was accompanied by a wise friend. Let’s call him Professor, to acknowledge just how wise he is. I was going to get a gift for yet another friend, and the Professor had volunteered to descend from his ivory towers to help me. Only a certain amount of pride prevented me from kissing his feet in gratitude. I approached the girl at the perfumes counter having absolutely no idea what I’d get my friend.

The girl was called Fatima. She was reassuringly short, with that thin nose and lips that dares you to say something bad. I was going to have to tidy my manners up a great deal to get anywhere with her.

“Morning.” I said. “I’m looking to buy a gift for a friend. What would you recommend? It’s a man in his late twenties, 5 foot 6. Engaged, has a promising future in investment banking. He’s unfussy and appreciates simplicity in his life. So, a pair of socks?”

I could see my attempt at cleverness was falling on deaf ears. Before Fatima could be say something laconic and cutting, the Professor interjected.

“Socks? Socks?! It’s your friend for heaven’s sake, not your grandfather,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know! What does one get for a friend as a Christmas gift?” I was truly in above my head.

Fatima saw her opportunity and interjected. “Why don’t you buy him an eau de toilette?”

“A what?” I wasn’t being funny. I really didn’t know. Fatima looked at me as if I was the one being obtuse.

“A deodorant. Here, I’d recommend the Elite, part of the Designer Collection,” she offered, handing the deodorant to me. The Professor snatched it out of my hands and inspected the sides of the box.

“It’s made in Germiston! What do the people on that side of Joburg know about deodorants? And what’ll your mate think of you, buying him a spray made in Germiston? No, I’m sorry. This won’t do. Can we try something else?”

I was beginning to regret the Professor’s help. Fatima gave the Professor another boxed deodorant. “That’s the Endangered eau de toilette. It’s Avroy Shlain. Endangered is a sensual chypre that explores the breadth and depth of masculinity with notes of citrus and bergamot, underscored by herbal spiciness. Provocative florals lend a certain tenderness to this powerful fragrance.”

Well, evidently she’d been on a wine-tasting course. Professor wasn’t as impressed. “That’s what’s written on the side,” he said.

Fatima was unfazed. She nodded indifferently. Relief thudded in my head as the Professor considered the Endangered at length. Maybe I’d still be able to go home with my sanity intact. He finally reached a verdict. “It’s too expensive.” I wanted to know what he meant by that. “Well, how close are you to this friend of yours? Pretty close? Closer than his mum? I thought not. Well, if you buy him this for Christmas, you run the risk of one-upping the people closer to him than yourself, thereby causing untold awkwardness during gift-opening. Your gift can’t be too expensive.”

We went back and forth like this for the better part of fifteen minutes, with me suggesting something, and the Professor shooting it down for being too cheap, or too feminine, or too expensive, or too gaudy. Finally the Professor shrugged in dramatic exasperation. “Well dude, we’ve been through most of the store, and you can’t seem to make up your mind about what to get your friend for Christmas. Just pick something!”

“Like what?!” I shouted. “You’ve shot down every single suggestion I’ve had!”

“Something appropriate, dude. Come on, use initiative.”

“I don’t know, man. Had I known Christmas shopping is such a headache, I wouldn’t have bothered! I really don’t know what to get him! Socks?!”

If you have any useful gift suggestions, you’re more than welcome to share them with me. Alternatively, you can follow me on Twitter here: @SiphoH, though I tend to be less daft there.

*Alas, the following part of this column is a figment of my imagination. I’m still putting off my Christmas shopping, mainly because my birthday was in July and I’ve long since spent that Woolies voucher. The Professor also only exists in my head. Having a lengthy and spirited argument over Christmas gifts with oneself only goes to show something, but I’m not sure what at this stage.[email protected]