Oxymorons

The words 'men' and 'Christmas shopping' don't belong in the same sentence let alone the same universe. It was therefore with trepidation that I awoke this morning to remember that the annual ( or seeminly pent-annual or whatever means once every five years) Christmas shopping with the husband event loomed ahead of me.
As it happened we didn't brave Oxford Street or even the local shopping centre. Instead we set the Sat Nav to Reading and traipsed down the M4 to Costco. No Tiffany baubles for me this year then but at least I can be grateful that this year's stocking won't be bulging with the tell-tale shapes of a teapot , a bread-bin or a pair of salad servers ( there's a theme emerging here ). After cruising around the male heaven TV aisles , a quick diversion through the tools and heavy industrial machinery section, finishing with a slow peruse around the beer and booze emporium, we finally made it to the till. I left him to pay unable to face the 'How Much ???' look of astonishment on his face. Two hot dogs later ( in lieu of a more expensive lunch) which cost the princely sum of £3 and we were back on the motorway heading for home. I could tell he was feeling as pleased as punch having executed his duty within a record 3 hours . Next stop Argos on the way home where I'd reserved a couple of video games for the boys for Christmas. He threatened to wait in the car until he realised that he would come in for some major stick here if he didn't enter into the Christmas Shopping spirit and actually get out of the car. I suppose we could call the day a sort of success and he's off the hook for another 5 years.