Our kids’ school, in its icy cruelty, continued its program right up to the day before Christmas Eve. We’re letting them out of school early, but yes, you still have to wake up at six to get them to school on time. So it was in a bleary fog of holiday obligation that I paced the streets of Sofia that morning, shopping for presents.

As my legs worked and my brain warmed up, I tried to pay attention to the stores on Yanku Sakuzov: dairy store, sapphires, pearls. Would Pavlina like some cheese for Christmas? No, because we were trying to fast. And she’s told me she thinks pearls are for old ladies. I’ll wait until it’s time to celebrate grandchildren.

Robert A. Heinlein taught me two important things in Stranger in a Strange Land: how to kiss, and how to give a present. “A present should show that you considered that person’s tastes. Something he would enjoy but probably would not buy.” People don’t trek to the gas station thinking, “you know what Dan would really appreciate? Axe body spray.” No, they’re just buying something. I have to get rid of so much aftershave on Boxing Day. Would I do that to my wife?

Slanchogled, an artist’s supply store, was packed today with middle-aged people buying presents for young relatives and art students with face tattoos. Remembering presents I’d gotten for my parents, I bought Maggie a block of 100% cotton watercolor paper and a set of serious watercolors, the ones in tubes. Ellie got smaller versions of the same things, because her big present was a stack of books. I had to go pick those up at the post office. I managed escaped after only twenty minutes, but still without my most difficult gift.

Pavlina always tells me to buy her something she can wear. When my energy is low, that often defaults to the goldsmith who made our wedding rings. I walked from the post office to his shop, and I looked at the heavy gold earrings displayed in his window. He even caught my eye and nodded at me, which made things very awkward when I turned around and left. I couldn’t see Pavlina in any of his work this year. And I can’t go to the same twinkle-eyed Armenian for every Christmas and birthday. I’ll make up for it by recommending him to you: the shop’s name is Karen.

When I’d ridden the metro into town, I’d thought I was so clever. I’d uploaded a photo of Pavlina and told Claude AI, “give me advice for presents for this woman in the voice of Anna Wintour.” Claude sounded very much like the Devil wearing Prada (“a woman who would wear red dress and green army boots has the strong aesthetic sense”), but it suggested stores that don’t exist. ChatGPT gave me real stores, but they sold tacky mall-wear and boring tchotchkes. I imagined them on her, and the gold, and the sapphires, and I headed back to Yanko Sakuzov. I got upsold there, but I don’t mind. Pavlina enjoys an expensive present.

“You know,” she said two days later, bedecked in her new jewels, “you have very specific taste.”

I took that as a compliment, and got up to take the Christmas stratta out of the oven. I’d found a use for that cheese, after all.

See you next month.