Anyone who has read my past curmudgeonly rantings periodically unloaded in this space is well aware that purchasing gifts is one of my least favorite activities.

Don't get me wrong. I love giving gifts. It's just the hunting and gathering part I can do without.

For many years, people have just assumed that, during December, I'm on a perpetual vodka-laced egg nog binge. The fact is I'm just self-medicating to the point of stupor because the entire gift procurement process gives me one Kris Kringle-sized migraine.

I know that I'm not alone in feeling this way, but the remaining 99 percent of the populace seems to handle the situation much better. It escapes me how people can spew perfect gift ideas on command and yet still enjoy walking through any retail outlet in search of these items. Think of a paper cut, and you'll get an idea of my low tolerance level for shopping. Ten minutes after entering the store, I'm ready to commit ritualistic suicide by allowing other shoppers to trample me on their way to the food court.

Fortunately, life sometimes throws you a bone. In this case that bone happens to be gasoline prices that have been steadily dropping like the Dow Jones since roughly September. My troubles are now over; I've found this year's gift nirvana. Rather than giving vent to my normal holiday malaise by drop-kicking hordes of department store elves, I can now buy fuel for those on my list.

The very idea of giving gas has renewed my sense of well-being. Uh, maybe I should rephrase that. Not only do I save myself countless hours of brain strain about what to get my loved ones, but I won't have to seek a government bailout to help pay the bills come January. Now I can actually experience the joy Christmas is supposed to afford (Ahh, what a wonderful word for the holidays!) by concocting gift wrapping ideas unique to each person on my list.

For example, I'll give a couple of gallons of petrol to my mother lined with gardenias, her favorite flower. As long as the vapors don't kill 'em, they'll offset the gas odor. I'll just have to make certain I place the containers outdoors away from the Christmas tree. Safety first, y'know.

My wife's gas will come bow-tied with a nice blouse or two. I'll just have to protect the outer layers of clothing with an inner liner that's suitable for burning. A Clemson diploma works wonders here.

Finally, my best friend, the beer hound, will find his Yuletide fuel decorated with a 12-pack secured with colorful duct tape. I'll just have to be careful to include large printed labels indicating which is which.

Allowing this bottomless pit to consume the wrong fire water could result in the kind of display that would put a damper on anyone's Christmas spirit.

T&D Staff Writer Phil Sarata can be reached by e-mail at psarata@timesanddemocrat.com or by phone at 803-533-5540. Discuss this and other stories online at TheTandD.com.

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