Hiding Presents in Cyberspace

The last time I entered what is referred to around here as "The Wal-Marks", I was approached by a total stranger in the electronics department who, while asking my advice about what telephone he should buy, ended each question by playing his harmonica that he whipped out from the front pocket of his bib overalls.

After five minutes of being serenaded and interrogated, I was finally rescued by my husband who quickly escorted me to the sporting goods section so he could drool over fishing equipment. Seconds into his first, "Wow, look at that reel!", yet another man approached us, looked at my husband and said, "I know you're strong, but odor isn't everything."

At checkout, the shopping trip went from bizarre to just plain crazy. A family of about 14 was ahead of us, their germ-encrusted buggy piled high with an assortment of unrelated items including a red, see-through negligee. As the parents were unloading their purchases, one of the children - a young boy about five or six years old - pulled on his father's shirt tail and begged him to let him to "lick the pole".

Surely, I thought, I've misunderstood his demands. After the third, incessant pleading to "lick the pole", the father gave in and, sure enough, the little boy began licking the metal pole that held the aisle's "thank GOD it's open" green light. I thought the poor child might be suffering from a mineral deficiency. My husband's theory was the little creep was looking for left over gum.

That was the day I became convinced the evil little blue smiley face that promises low prices also causes people to go mad.

I've now joined the ranks of bunny-slipper-shoppers and buy almost everything online, especially during the four weeks of holiday hell.

Since both of my children have inherited (from me) the inability to delay gratification or to wait for present-opening time, I've found it not only saves me from having panic attacks inside the supercenter, it's also easier to find a hiding place once the gifts arrive.

The kids figured out the truck-of-the-car trick when they were in diapers. Now, by ordering online, once the gifts arrive I simply leave them in the cardboard boxes and toss each one to the appropriate child on Christmas morning. I've found it saves on clean-up and I can claim I'm saving the environment by not buying wrapping paper.

The strategy was working well until this weekend.

Most of Saturday, feet snuggly inside my bunny slippers, I did my Christmas shopping. The children were both home for the Thanksgiving holiday, but both seemed busy doing what grown kids do when they're home - eating, sleeping and using all the bath towels.

By late afternoon I was satisfied with my purchases and feeling smug that, yet again, I had outsmarted them. When I heard, "What are we having for dinner????" I left my office and went into the kitchen, scrounging up leftovers and trying to figure out how to compose yet another meal featuring turkey.

While slaving over a recipe for "Turkey De Vyne" I heard not so soft whispering and laughing, coming from my office. A few minutes later, both children emerged and exchanged knowing looks with one another.

"What are you guys doing?" I innocently asked while standing on tip toes looking for something remotely resembling tarragon in my spice cabinet.

"We're just wondering about the digital cameras you bought today," my son said.

I whipped around to see them grinning broadly.

"You forgot to erase your history, Mom," they said in unison.