For 364 days out of a year you will never hear a dude ask another dude if he wants to go shopping. But the sounds of Salvation Army’s bells are like the seductive songs of the sirens. It draws men to them and, to keep the mythological metaphor going, usually results in some level of crash-and-burn.

            In the days running up to Christmas, husbands hatch schemes under the shallow pretense that the wives have shouldered too much of the shopping burden. “It’s time to step up for the cause,” they say to their friends in magnanimous tones.

            It transgresses from that point forward because it only takes two guys talking about Christmas shopping before others catch wind of the plans. Soon, the discussion turns from who is driving to whether it would be cheaper (and safer) to book a party bus.

            The plotline at this point becomes predictable. The guys pick a day or night during crunch time of the shopping season. They meet at a watering hole then head into the wintry night. The stores, of course, are packed and, when the men reach them, they take one look then convince each other it is not worth the hassle to venture into them. The vehicle is rerouted to the nearest casino, men’s club or watering hole.

            Later that night or early morning, they return home, broke, empty-handed and with dancer sparkles on their cheeks. Ashamed of themselves, they sleep on their couches so as to not awaken their wives.

            But, in the minds of men, the story always ends happily for they will produce for their wives a present come Christmas morning even if it is a four-piece Paris Hilton fragrance set purchased at Walgreens on Christmas Eve.