raffertyesque

We’re getting down to the wire here, folks. T-minus two days until Christmas. Have you finished all your shopping? Unlike last year, this year I didn’t put things off until the last minute. I’m all set. My list is complete. I’ve dotted the Ts and crossed the lowercase Js.

I imagine 99% of the rest of you are done as well. But for the 1% of you who just don’t know what to get the people on your list, no fears. I am here with the second annual Raffertyesque Gift-Free Gift Guide to Gift Giving: The 1% Edition.

For your father: It’s been a few years since you bought him a car, no? Last year was the boat, the year before that the condo in Barbados, I think it’s car time. Maybe a hybrid this time? Bwahahaha. Just kidding. In fact, see if you can find a car that still runs on leaded gas. If you can’t, see if you can get a new car converted to run on leaded gas.

For your mother: Diamonds. Just a bunch of loose diamonds in a black velvet bag, like in the movies. That’ll show the other mothers whose son loves them more.

For your wife: What do you get the woman who has everything? How about a trip to Paris? Just you and her, leave the kids at home. You’ll see the sights, dine in the finest restaurants, go on private tours of the greatest vineyards in the world. Let’s reignite that fire you two used to have!

For your mistress: Actually, take that Paris trip with the mistress. Tell your wife you’re sorry and something came up at work so you have to cancel the trip. Maybe give her a couple loose diamonds to make it up to her.

For your secretary (aka backup mistress): The Paris trip, if the mistress can’t make it. Otherwise, maybe a set of monogrammed towels?

For your babysitter (aka backup backup mistress): The Paris trip, if the mistress and backup mistress can’t make it. Otherwise, uh, an extra $20 next time she babysits?

For your kids: Just buy them a stack of iPads.

For your live-in nanny who sleeps under the staircase to the roof deck: Maybe let her take Christmas off this year so she can spend it with her family? I think the sunlight would do her well, and it will give her renewed hope that there is a light at the end of the (literal) tunnel.

For your live-in butler who sleeps under the staircase to the roof deck with your live-in nanny: Nothing. He gets the crawlspace to himself while the nanny is gone. He should be thankful.

For your father-in-law, the goddamn hippie: The coffee table with elephant tusks for legs did not go over well last year. Same deal with the bearskin rug the year prior. He’s into nature, but apparently not like that. This year why don’t you play it safe and just get him a kombucha mother so he can brew some kombucha. Make sure the mother is alive, though. A dead one would be gross. Although, well, a living one is pretty gross, too.

For your brother-in-law, who handles your finances: Sweet Christ, buy him a suit that actually fits him. He’s making you look bad by proxy.

For your Jewish accountant, who actually handles your finances: Well, first off, Hanukkah started a few days ago, so you’ve already kind of botched this one. But if you really want to get him something, I heard he needs a new kidney. And I hear you’re the type of person who can make that happen.

For your “other” Jewish accountant, who handles the “other” set of books: Nothing. He’s already skimming off the top, the schmuck.

For your lawyer: What do you get the lawyer who has everything? No, no, do not go to Paris with your lawyer. I assume that goes without saying, but I just wanted to be clear on that. Anyway. Lawyers are tough to shop for. I’m thinking Harry Potter box set.

For your shareholders: A promise that next year the company will bounce back, and that we all need to make sacrifices in this recession and therefore you’re only going to take a 3% bonus increase instead of your normal 5% hike.

For your employees: Hutcherson, clean out your desk.

For your fellow business men from the golf club: Next time you guys go out to the strip club, the lap dances are on you. (As in, you pay for them.)

For your best friend: N/A.

For the homeless man you run past every morning on your jog: Treat him like a human being just for one day. Just so he can remember what it feels like, if only for a moment. Then resume ignoring him the other 364 days out of the year.

For your personal chef: Let him make you that duck confit thing he’s been harping on you about for God knows how long now. You don’t even have to eat it. Ask him to make some EasyMac for the kids and then switch plates with them. They won’t notice, they’ll be on their iPads.

For your personal tailor: Get him one of those FBI: Federal Booty Inspector t-shirts from one of the street vendors in Little Italy. Hilarious.

For your personal driver: What do you get the guy who drives you everywhere? Well, first, I’d stop making him pay for gas up front and then reimbursing him at the end of the month. That’s just a jerk move. (Although it does help him rack up airline miles.) Secondly, I hear he really wants to use your Rangers box seats at MSG in a couple weeks. Come on, man, you never even go to the games.

For your personal trainer: Maybe your secretary’s phone number?

For your personal shopper: Wait, you have a personal shopper? Well what the fuck am I doing writing you this list for then? God, you 1% really are the worst.