Over the past few weeks, I’ve been worried. Christmas is coming, and I still haven’t found the perfect gift for the Nordic Warrior Queen. What do you buy for the woman you’ve spent the last thirty-two years of your life with?
So a few days ago I decided it was time to do something different: to take drastic measures, do the unexpected, and get her something she would never think of, nor ever buy for herself. How about a wig?
In a lot of ways, a wig is the perfect gift, because it’s one of those two-way gifts, you know? Like buying her a pair of tickets to the tractor pull, or bringing her to a nice restaurant which also happens to serve your favorite beer? Not only does she get to feel special, but you also feel special just looking at her, knowing that she feels like a different woman. Get it? Everyone’s happy.
But where do you buy a wig? I’ve always tried to do most of my shopping at the nearby mall, not only because of the exceptional values found there, but also because they have a great beer pub, and I always shop better after a few beers (take the wig idea as proof).
Luckily, there’s a kiosk in the mall that sells hair accessories. I settled up my bar tab and wandered out to see what they had to offer. I was thinking about a shoulder length hairpiece in Scully Red.
Sadly, they were all out, but it didn’t matter. It was my lucky day. I’ve always been partial to green, and I quickly found the perfect wig; a gleaming emerald beauty in a Gidget-style hairdo that I was certain would start a new fashion trend. My wife would love it.
I could already envision the smile on her face as she took it out of the box on Christmas Eve, never mind what might come afterwards. Just in case, I decided to take a picture with my camera phone, so I could send it to my daughter for a second opinion. You can never be too sure when it comes to women.
And that’s when the trouble began.
Suddenly there was this little Chinese lady in my face, swinging her arms at me and shouting, “No picture, no picture!” What the hell? I tried to explain to her that I only wanted to send a picture to my daughter, but she would have none of my Gaijin bullshit.
However, I was not giving up so easily.
I waited until she was busy with another customer, and then sneaked up behind her so I could get a clear shot of the green wig. But just as I was focusing, the little Chinese Lady came out of her kiosk with the fury of a Ninja Warrior. She opened a can of whoop ass on me like I haven’t seen since the 4th grade, when I rigged the water fountain with sky-blue Tempura paint and sprayed Mrs. Spriggs’ new dress.
Defeated, I retired to the safety of the Food Court to think things through. I suppose I could have licked my wounds and gone home, but it wasn’t about the picture anymore; it was a matter of pride. Drastic measures were clearly required.
What’s the best way to distract a large group of people, especially an aggressive Chinese national with supernatural martial-arts skills? Why, a fire, of course.
Contrary to public opinion, pulling a fire alarm does not cause blue ink to spurt out of the tiny hole on the front of the device, thus marking the hands of the criminal for easy identification by law-enforcement officials. I debunked this rumor nine days into High School on a dare by Scotty Wilson. He lost $10 on that one, but we did get out of school early that day, so it was probably a fair trade.
I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t really pull the fire alarm at the Tucson Mall (but I did consider it). Instead I gave some kids $5 to start an argument in front of the Chinese Lady’s kiosk, knowing full well she would lay some bad-ass Kung Fu on them for messing with her. As soon as she was distracted, I strode up, took careful aim, and got the perfect shot of the wig. Easy.
As it turned out, however, my daughter thought the color might not go with my wife’s eyes. So after all that, I’m back to square one on that Christmas gift for the Nordic Warrior Queen.
Any ideas?