As we lurch towards the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Festivus season, I wonder why holiday preparation remains a secondary sex-characteristic for females, similar to the ability to braid hair and remember birthdays? Why is this burden placed on the narrow (although buff and fit) shoulders of women? Is it chromosomal, built into DNA? Have females simply evolved the gift-wrapping gene so the kids don't think all the presents come from the Unibomber, which is what they look like if Dad wraps them? Has survival of the fittest prepared us, and us alone, for the daunting task of hitting T.J. Maxx with a coupon for fifteen percent off any regularly-priced item? Is it a skill honed by our cave-dwelling ancestors that leads us to purchase, by the crate, hand-forged votive-candleholders embossed with the international sign for an environmentally-safe world from a catalog? Why is it that most men don't even know what a votive candle is? Only two x chromosomes could account for the creation of pomander balls by thousands of women who otherwise seem not to suffer from any grievous psychological ailment. I mean, can you just imagine giving the following instructions to any male of the species? "Use a toothpick to prick a hole in the skin of a piece of fruit such as an apple or orange. Then place a clove in the hole. Repeat until the entire fruit is covered with cloves. Next stick the tips of a wire hairpin into the fruit at the stem. Then roll the fruit in a dish of cinnamon. Place the fruit in a piece of cheesecloth. Twist the cheesecloth together around the hairpin. Use a piece of yarn to tie the cheesecloth onto the hairpin. Next tie a ribbon bow around the yarn. Allow the fruit to dry in a cool, dark until the fruit hardens." I don't even know where to begin in terms of gender specificity. It would be illegal in most states to force men to perform these tasks. If you told a boy that he had to make a gift for someone he loved out of rotting fruit, hairpins, and cheesecloth, he might find the concept intriguing-think of the possibilities in terms of making a mess, after all--but when he discovered that the process involved the systematic implantation of hundreds of cloves, he would plead his case to child protective services. At the holiday season, it becomes particularly apparent that all women, not only stay-at-home moms or naturally crafty types, are driven to express themselves through their holiday decorations. This is not always happy thing. There is, for example, a cultural craving for polymer clay. Apparently women across American are driven to create decorations through what sounds like the unnatural pairing of polymer clay and pasta makers. Perhaps we're seeing a generation who once enjoyed using the Play-Doh Fun Factory attempting to bridge the gap between something advertised on Captain Kangaroo and something exhibited in the Louvre. And for the truly obsessive-compulsive crafter, there are die-cutters. In order to achieve a perfectly designed star, heart, or snowman shape, the use of scissors is no longer appropriate. Tools made especially for this onerous task are what the truly gifted crafter must use. All of this pales in comparison to a need for "embellishments." Embellishments are the absolute rage. I think it has something to do with rubber stamps, but I'm not really sure. I was a little surprised to learn that rubber stamps are considered the accoutrements of the artistic. I thought when you said, "I'm just gonna rubber-stamp that," it meant that you paid no attention whatsoever; to rubber-stamp something was to dismiss it as quickly and generically as possible. Now, however, rubber stamps have been elevated to the place etching used to hold, though I can't imagine any line of seduction beginning, "Would you like to come upstairs and see my rubber stamps?" I can more easily imagine someone saying, "Would you like to come up and see my pomander balls?" Enjoy the pre-holiday season. Light a votive candle for me. By Regina Barreca, Ph.D. Adapted from IT'S NOT THAT I'M BITTER: HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING ABOUT VISIBLE PANTY LINES AND CONQUERED THE WORLD published by St. Martin's Press