Sometimes it's better not to receive

Now that the post- Christmas afterglow has faded, it's time to start the new year by giving thanks for what Santa did not bring us.

This wasn't always a problem. When I was a kid, I didn't care what I got. But a couple of Christmases were still more memorable than others. For different reasons. One Christmas, I was thrilled when Santa came through with a 3-speed English bicycle to replace my used Huffy. The bike was great but I would have enjoyed it more if we hadn't spent most of that Christmas Day visiting mother in the hospital. A couple of Christmases before that it was all silver linings when Santa came through with what was — until then — the best Christmas present ever.

I whined for months about an electric train. I mailed my letter to Santa in September. Then it was three months of torture for my folks as I kept asking if they thought Santa would come through. They didn't promise a thing, but reminded me that good behavior would help my chances. For a while there, I qualified for sainthood.

On Christmas Eve I was so excited I couldn't sleep. A couple of hours after I was banished to bed I snuck out and heard voices in the living room. When I peeked around the corner I was astonished to see the folks putting together the brand new Lionel train Santa had just delivered.

The setup came complete with landscaping and a small village. My favorite building was the train depot where the dairy car loaded and unloaded milk containers. My favorite train game was tying one of my sister's dolls to the tracks and pretending it was her.

I drove that train until the transformer burned up.

As I got older, I lost my lust for wrapped presents and learned to savor the best gift of all, family visitation.

Once I quit asking for gifts, I got some real surprises. I'll never forget the Christmas my mother sent me a handmade flannel shirt. Inside the gift box, I found a package of Odor-Eaters. Useful, but hardly festive.

I was reminded of that foot-related incident this year when my son gave me a pair of shoes. He swears it's not because one of my two other pair had holes in the soles. He says he got a good deal. We'll leave it at that. I'll get revenge on his birthday.

My sweet wife knew just what to get me. And her family was more than generous. All hit the nail on the head. My daughter came through with a fabulous treat, too, despite stern warnings about "No gifts for parents."

But as much as I liked the good gifts, I'm just as thankful for what I didn't get this year.

The list includes a Thigh Master, rap CD, Nutri-System gift certificate and a 55-gallon drum of the new colon "cleansers" that are so hot among the hip set.

But I'm most thankful I didn't get Burger King's latest offering. For some reason the home of the Whopper chose the Christmas Season to reveal it was entering the fragrance business. And not, as you might expect, with a cologne called Crown or Monarch.

Instead, Burger King is offering a body spray for men called "Flame." Sounds pretty hot until you realize "Flame" smells like a cooking burger.

A company press release says, "Flame by BK captures the essence of that love and gives it to you. Behold ... now you can set the mood for whatever you're in the mood for."

Right now I'm in the mood to throw up. So if you'll excuse me...I have to run.