Ah, the time-honored tradition of holiday gift giving. Ain't it grand? Every year at this time we jump into our cars, head off to the Mall, and begin the frenzied, gut-wrenching, heart-racing tradition of holiday gift shopping for our loved ones, co-workers, and, yes, even the doorman, mail carrier, and pizza girl. Armed with our lists and maxed-out credit cards, we gleefully dodge holiday revelers weaving along the roads, sloshed on office party egg nog, and make our ways to the stores where, greeted by a horde of temporary staffers bedecked in red hats, green vests and furry collars, we push and shove our way through the crowded aisles, searching for that elusive "perfect" gift.

Of course, we have gotten a lot more sophisticated at this over the years. Now we shop over the internet, happily sharing our credit card numbers with a gaggle of complete strangers, we telephone our orders to catalogue sales digs all over the US, and we even stay up all night watching QVC, the Shopping Channel, or HSN, in hopes of grabbing that bargain that just has our name written all over it. Only 415 left!!

Geez!!! It used to be we conducted this ritual in a civilized, leisurely fashion, carefully wrapping each item, delivering it personally, with a thoughtful card attached, reveling in the glow of the recipient's wonder and excitement. But now "Brown" delivers our holiday packages many well-travelled miles away, and, unless we get a thank-you card back from the happy holiday home-owner, we never know if the gift ever arrived.

The ritual begins, in earnest, the day after we are stuffed to the gourds with turkey and all the trimmings. Unable to sleep beacuse of bloated, swollen bellies, and with major emissions emanating loudly from all orifices, many of us slide ourselves into our cars at 400 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving, wait in a freezing parking lot for the doors to open at our favorite store, then hurdle and push our way over the slow and the challenged to be the first in line when the manager turns that key. You know the drill - "Three hours only - 50% off all stock, except electronics, appliances, clothes, housewares, and toys." Oh well, that vapid sculpture will look good on Uncle Charlie's hall table...

I don't know about you, but I am getting pretty sick of all of it. The merchants want us to buy their stuff, to be sure, but that surly, hassled, salesperson that can't find the buttons on the cash register is not my idea of a reason to go out to shop. I'd rather take my chances that a 14-year old, pimple-faced hacker in Bejing hasn't grabbed my card and PIN numbers off the internet, and order all my presents online, ship them to the relatives, and other significant recipients, and spend the rest of my holiday time sloshing down beers at the local pub with my friends.

In fact, it was just the other day, at one of our favorite watering holes, that I asked Ken how his shopping was coming along.

"Haven't bought a thing yet." You?

"I leave that all to my wife."

"Well, so do I, and it works just fine. No one has complained for years."

"I think that's it. We should have another."

Christy sauntered over to the table to pour. She did it so well. "Christy, have you done your holiday shopping yet?"

"Noooo," she purred, "haven't had time - been working two shifts for the last month just to have enough money to pay for the stuff. I don't know when I'll get to the store."