Jim Kershner : Admittedly, this gift truly sucked

A few weeks before Christmas, I asked a trusted woman colleague: “Should I buy my wife a vacuum cleaner for Christmas?”

“No,” she said.

When I tried to explain my rationale, she just looked at me, piercingly, for a few long seconds, and repeated, “No.”

So I approached another trusted woman colleague and said, “Do you think it’s ever a good idea to buy your wife a vacuum clean –”

“No.”

So I asked one more woman.

“For Christmas, I was thinking of buying my wife a vac –”

“No.”

Well, the upshot of all of this was, I bought my wife, Carol, a vacuum cleaner for Christmas.

Skip to the end if you want to find out if this culminated in denunciations, divorce or decapitation.

First, I want to defend my rationale for this clearly unexciting and unromantic Christmas choice.

Rationale No. 1: She has been complaining about our ancient vacuum cleaner for at least five years.

Rationale No. 2: She would never buy one for herself unless the old one actually died, which it refuses to do.

Rationale No. 3: I couldn’t think of anything else.

So rather than give up on this Christmas plan, I decided to expand my survey and put the same question to some of my fellow husbands. The results were more encouraging.

“That sucks!” said one. “Get it? That’s a vacuum cleaner pun. No, seriously, that’s a brilliant present. Geez, Jim, why don’t you get the little woman a frilly apron and dish rack for Christmas, too?”

I tried some more husbands.

“Sounds great,” said one. “Or you could go all out and get her a Shop-Vac.”

And some more husbands.

“That sounds fine to me. I’m buying my wife a belt sander.”

And some more husbands.

“Oh, God, no. What’s wrong with you? How long have you been married, anyway? Almost three decades? Oh. In that case, I suppose it doesn’t make any difference.”

These were not ringing endorsements, yet neither were they outright repudiations. So I tried to brainstorm with a few people about how to, I don’t know, soften the Christmas morning blow.

“Here’s what you do,” said one friend. “Present her with the Hoover on Christmas morning and just about the time her face falls and she begins to cry, you say, ‘You might want to look inside the vacuum bag, honey.’ And then she finds the Tiffany diamond tiara you hid in there!”

I explained that my budget did not allow for a Hoover-Tiffany combo pack.

Another woman suggested that I give her the vacuum cleaner with a note that said, “Also included: My pledge to do all of the vacuuming from now on!”

I scrunched my forehead for about 10 seconds before I noticed the flaw in that plan.

“Well, that would be an even worse present,” I explained. “Who wants a present they’ll never get to use? That would be just cruel.”

Finally, I decided that I knew my wife better than any of these other people. I knew how much she hated her old vacuum, a hand-me-down from her mother. I knew how carefully she reads the vacuum cleaner ratings in Consumer Reports. I knew how she lingers longingly in front of the vacuum rack at Lowe’s, whispering words to herself such as “Wind Tunnel technology” and “self-propelled.”

Also, I knew that it was a week before Christmas and her husband had to pull the trigger on a present. So I went out and bought the vacuum cleaner.

Yes, it was self-propelled and had “Wind Tunnel technology.” I’m not completely stupid. Getting your wife a vacuum cleaner is dangerous enough; getting her a cheap vacuum cleaner would be, frankly, suicidal.

So I am pleased to report that Christmas has come and gone, and we are still married. Carol provided clear evidence, in the form of a hug, of being pleased with her new vacuum cleaner (the chocolate in her stocking also helped).

In fact, I’m feeling so emboldened by this triumph, I would like to pose the following question:

For Valentine’s Day: Swiffer Sweeper? Yes or no?