The Gift Was as Flimsy as My Rationale

It’s simple. A proper gift must satisfy a few basic criteria. Without going into specifics (I’ll spare you the flow chart), a thoughtful present can generally be defined as one that (a) the recipient has requested or expressed interest in; (b) offers some practical benefit for the recipient; (c) reflects the personal interests of the recipient; or (d) stimulates the recipient’s sense of nostalgia by triggering an emotionally gratifying memory — or all of the above.

Although reliable in most situations, this otherwise flawless system for gift giving breaks down on Valentine’s Day as Valentine’s gifts also must be emblematic of your romantic connection to the recipient (without being creepy, that is). A lock of your hair braided with a lock of your partner’s and suspended in a shadow box, for instance, would be deemed creepy by most people.

Furthermore, in an effort to reach some cultural consensus on what represents a romantic connection, we Americans seem to have narrowed the parameters for Valentine’s gifts, making things even more challenging. In addition to the four standard criteria, a Valentine’s gift also should be red or heart-themed and come in some form of chocolate, jewelry or lingerie — a preposterous stipulation that for years I had sidestepped by taking Kristen out for dinner or for a short romantic getaway. It was nothing you could wrap, but still the gesture met the main criteria.

By our fourth year of marriage, though, I had begun to deviate from my proven pattern, presenting Kristen with Italian wine and handmade chocolates. This seemed to go over well, so the next year I gave her a diamond necklace. Also a success! I was clearly on a roll, which explains how the following year I found myself standing face-to-face with an extraordinarily busty mannequin in an upscale lingerie boutique.

“She’ll love it,” said the vaguely European-looking saleswoman, stroking the sheer negligee hanging seductively from the mannequin. “And not just because she’s your wife,” she purred. “Every woman feels sexy in lingerie.”

She made a compelling case, but still I had my doubts about giving lingerie as a gift. A baby-doll negligee seemed to fail a number of criteria.

To my recollection, Kristen had never expressed interest in owning or wearing provocative clothing, even in a romantic setting. Because of this, it would not make her nostalgic for any particular history we shared.

Was it practical? Hardly. I would undoubtedly wrench the article from Kristen’s body the moment she came within reach, so why bother putting it on? If a garment spends more time on the floor than on you, it can’t be considered practical.

Also, I’m a man in my 30s, which means I am always primed for action anyway. I’m generalizing here, but I think it’s safe to say that we men do not require a romantic visual to get in the mood. We just need the woman to be physically present, and, frankly, even that’s debatable.

Kristen, for example, is always amazed when she has the flu and her hair is all matted and snarly and she hasn’t showered or changed out of her pajamas in two days and still I hit her up for sex. Lingerie, pajamas, a hospital gown: makes zero difference to the segment of the population known for wearing black socks during intercourse.

Logic and rational thinking alone, however, could not overcome one crucial factor that seemed to be clouding my judgment: the stunning image of Kristen wearing something terrifically slinky, just for me.

David Finch lives in the Chicago area and is the author of “The Journal of Best Practices,” a memoir that resulted from an essay he wrote for this column in 2009.

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