Read my mind: Diamonds |

Read my mind: Diamonds

Joanne Palmer

— Life is full of mysteries. Why are there ten hot dogs per pack and only eight buns in a bag? Why does toast always land butter side down? Why was the planet Pluto booted out of the solar system? If you order chicken fried steak why do you get steak and not chicken? What kind of number is emirp?

These mysteries are intriguing, a bit puzzling perhaps, but not worthy of a full-blown, Sherlock Holmes’-style investigation. But there is one enduring holiday mystery that is so complex it has never been able to be solved. What happens to men during the holiday season?

As men hit the stores in search of the perfect present for their one true love, women light candles, fine tune their powers of mental telepathy and huddle together for moral support.


For all the advertising directed at them, men seem to ignore all the warm, fuzzy ads about diamond eternity bands, diamond earrings and delicate diamond heart-shaped necklaces. Did I mention diamonds? Instead, they seem to scrutinize the sale flyers from hardware stores. Cordless combo sets! Snowblowers! Ratchet drives! While there to pick up their brand new double-stage snowblower with a fast-spinning auger, a feeling of generosity overcomes them and they grab a toaster oven for the wife. And a Leatherman for themselves.

Men, bless them, seem not to understand that a toaster oven or a front rock shock for a mountain bike will not make their mate feel loved, cherished and adored. Ditto for a Hooters outfit, Jane Fonda aerobic step and the size XXXXXL insulated Carhartt overalls for dog walking. Some women take matters into their own hands by buying themselves jewelry, wrapping and labeling the sweet little box and putting it under the tree.

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Women, bless them, make it especially difficult to understand what they truly want for Christmas. They feel men should be able to read their minds and, just to make sure, they drop hints. “You rock my world!” “Carrots for dinner?” “Jennie is such a jewel!” But the minds of men are full. They are still debating if the four-stroke engine on the snow blower they bought is beefy enough to do the job. So I am going to perform an amazing feat never before seen on the pages of this newspaper. I am going to decode women-speak. This will guarantee you will be sleeping next to your sweet turtledove on the night of Dec. 25.

Him: “Honey, what do you want for Christmas?”

Her: Nothing.

Translation: Diamond earrings.

Him: “Honey, what do you want for Christmas?”

Her: “If I have to tell you, I may as well buy it myself.”

Translation: Diamond ring.

Him: “Honey, what do you want for Christmas?”

Her: “Oh, honey, let’s buy something for the house instead.”

Translation: Diamond necklace.

Was that so hard?

Hang on to every word we say all year round, but when it comes to Christmas, forget the crock-pot, crocheted potholders and Camelbaks. Head for the nearest jewelry store, sleep in your own bed next to your bejeweled queen and you will “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”