The Lovely Mrs. Taylor is a wonderful person. Really. But she can play me like a cheap violin and she knows it. Using a combination of smelling nice and being cute as a button, she can get me to do pretty much anything she wants me to.

I can live with that.

But now she's figured out a way to manipulate my actions by remote control. She does this by exploiting my one* weakness: women.

See, Mrs. T isn't the only woman who can push me around, she's just the woman who's best at it. The girl who works at the stinky bath soap shop is definitely second best.

I don't usually go to the stinky bath soap shop unless I'm coerced. Yesterday, I was coerced.

Several of the items on Mrs. Taylor's Christmas gift "suggestion"** list are available only at the bath shop, which does have a real name, by the way; something like Bath/Body/Bed ... something or other. I don't remember and I don't want to. No man does. It's not a place to which a man goes voluntarily.

He goes only because he has to.

Anyway, last night with list in hand - and my oldest son Jordan in tow for moral support - I passed through the perfume-scented doorway of the Bath/Body/Bed/Whatever shop.

This is not a place set up with men in mind; everything is chrome, glass and gossamer fabric, all highlighted by strategically placed pin-spots that make everything look ever so dramatic and exciting. It's the kind of place where - when we were little boys - our mothers would say, "Now, for God's sake don't touch anything!"

The shelves are lined with row after row of dramatically lit pastel-tinted bottles and delicate jars, all looking very breakable and very expensive. (Because they are!)

Behind the shelves are walls made of mirrored glass, as if we needed visual confirmation that we are, in fact, bulls in a china shop.

No sooner do we get inside than I am descended upon by an attractive brunette I'll call "Cheryl." I will call her that because that's what it said on her name tag.

"Hi," Cheryl bubbled. "Can I help you find anything?"

"Uh," I said, sounding particularly clever and scintillating, "this stuff." I handed Cheryl Mrs. T's list. It contained only two items: "Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub"*** and "Lemon-Avocado Balm Rub Lotion Gloss."***

"Oh, these are excellent, great" Cheryl effused, sounding as if I'd just turned over the patent for cold fusion. "Your wife will love these!"

"Well, you know, it is her list," I said.

"Well, tell her for me she has excellent taste!" Cheryl said.

I could tell Cheryl really liked the word "excellent."

Jordan and I shambled after Cheryl as she led us through the maze of glossy display cases to the Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub section. She pulled a bottle of sickly-green goo off the shelf - a "tester" - and opened it for my inspection.

"Look!" she said.

Not wanting to disappoint Cheryl, I looked.

I used to wonder what they used for that scene in "The Exorcist" - the one where Linda Blair barfs on the priest?

I wonder no longer.

It was definitely Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub.

"Ah," I said to Cheryl. "Very nice. I'll take it."

"Excellent!" Cheryl said.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "You know, if you get only two more items from the Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub line, you get a fourth item free!"

I looked to my son for advice, but the poor kid's even more clueless than me.  Plus, he suffers from a similar weakness when it comes to cute girls, even girls who say "excellent" way too often.

"Go for it," he mumbled.

Cheryl beamed at Jordan, then at me.

"Say," she said, noticing the family resemblance, "You two must be brothers!"

From that point on Cheryl could have ordered me to assassinate the president of Bolivia and I would have said, "You bet!  What an excellent idea!"

I swear, if men were any dumber...

Anyway, by the time Cheryl was done with me, I had purchased the Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub, the Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub wash, the Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub cologne, the Seaweed Kelp Exfoliating Peach Scrub body spray, the Lemon-Avocado Balm Rub Lotion Gloss, Lemon-Avocado Balm Rub Lotion Gloss scent, Lemon-Avocado Balm Rub Lotion Gloss cream, and - of course - the Lemon-Avocado Balm Rub Lotion Gloss pot pourri.

After Cheryl rang up and bagged my purchases, she - get this - sprayed my shopping bags with some Christmassy perfume stuff!

"It'll make your car smell excellent!" she said.

If Gary, who owns the hardware store I shop at, were to ever do this, I'd slug him. He wouldn't expect anything less.

Anyway, I still had about 20 bucks in my wallet, so Jordan and I went to a bar that specializes in cheap beer and spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out what had just happened.

I'll tell you what happened: Exactly what The Lovely Mrs. Taylor knew would happen, that's what.

Good thing she's cute as a button. Plus she smells nice. Kinda like peaches and avocados and lemons.

* OK, one of many.

** Meaning items that had better be under the tree Christmas morning.

*** Or something like this; they all sound the same to me.

You can contact Mike Taylor with your comments, complaints or Christmas shopping tips at mtaylor@midmich.net.