Give A Little Bit

As we know ladies it’s impossible to buy a present for the man who has everything. If he has you what else could he possibly need? But you girls still have to go through the motions of buying Valentine’s gifts, birthday presents, Christmas boxes and all manner of stuff that we guys just don’t need.

As a male let me lay one myth to rest right away and tell you that we don’t go in for those pint glasses stamped “World’s Best Drinker”, T shirts with “My Other Belly Is A Six Pack” or the bottle openers and corkscrews inside a nice tin that Marks And Spencers put together at Christmas time, nor are we fans of the Stig alarm clock, the Top Gear bath oil, or the comic odour eaters impregnated with the smell of chicken vindaloo. And while we’re at it the Ant and Dec board game is a waste of cardboard, as is the Doctor Who sonic screwdriver that doubles as a pen and will probably have our workmates pelting us with rotten fruit.

Boxed desktop game packs with tiny darts, mini snooker and a miniscule roulette wheel will go straight back to Debenhams on Boxing Day, pin striped coffee mugs proclaiming “I’m a stupid banker” are no use to guys who think the Stock Exchange is where women swap soup recipes, and boxer shorts with Homer Simpson on just aren’t funny, despite what the shop assistant tells you. And don’t get me started on comic socks or ties.

I think that guys’ presents are best bought by guys themselves which is why I always read a magazine called Stuff. It’s full of gadgets we don’t need, widgets we can’t afford and gizmos which will be outdated by half past six, but that’s what we want isn’t it? Boys toys.

This magazine reviews the latest TVs, Blu Ray players, spaceships , time travelling machines, nuclear powered lawnmowers, robots that run on real ale, laser guided football boots and limited edition watches that are rarer than an assistant in Primark with a smile on her face. And it was here I spotted an advert this month that made me stop in my adolescent, Peter Pan, tracks.

The magazine is supposed to be full of stuff that’s indispensable to men so I guess there must be a market for what was advertised, though ladies I advise you that buying them for your man may lead to divorce. They may be practical but they have the danger/advantage that the guy you give them to will leave home insulted and never come home again; a gift so expressive and message laden that any unwanted admirer you may have will certainly leave you alone if you buy them for him. If that’s the type of present you want for your man then look no further than Shreddies, a new high, or low, in underwear.

They’re advertised in my magazine as “filtering underwear” and further investigation showed that these are boxer shorts impregnated in the bottom with something that, well, filters smells. In other words they’re odour eaters for your sitting area.

I know you think I’m making this up so check for yourself at www.myshreddies.com, you untrusting soul. There, on the home page, you can see someone tell of how they’ve revolutionised their life. “Plane trips scare the life out of me,”it says, “not because I’m afraid of flying but because I’m scared I let one go”.

I guess the point I’m making here ladies is that it’s OK for guys to buy these for themselves but not for our other halves to buy them for us. They may be essential but not something you want given wrapped in a bow. It would be like us buying you a pack of moustache wax, useful but ill advised.

In this age of TV shows like Channel Four’s Embarrassing Bodies, where people queue up to show their three boobs, miniscule manhoods and the mermaid’s tail growing out of their bottoms, I guess we ought not to be surprised about Shreddies being advertised alongside headphones and TVs, but I thank God my wife never reads my “comic” as she calls it. I’d never have a surprise present ever again.

I’m tempted to say though that the advert blew me away. But I won’t.