By Brian J. Karem

So there I was doing my last minute Christmas shopping (really is there any other type?) at a local department store when a woman walked up to the cashier and asked if they had any "spanks" for sale.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Spanks are a woman's best friend," I was told by the enthusiastic shopper when she found out the store had a supply.

Fill in your punch line at this point because I know I did. Only I have no internal filter so what I was thinking came out of my mouth.

It produced a laugh, and I won't repeat the line here, but afterward I had to admit I was chagrined.

I had no idea what the woman was talking about.

For those like myself, it turns out this clothing item that sounds like some kind of sadomasochistic implement of destruction is actually some kind of panty that hides tummy fat - or something like that.

I really don't want to know the details.

Then there's the shopper I ran across a couple of days before Christmas who was muttering to himself.

As he walked down the aisle of the sporting good store he was muttering something about needing a blender.

No, it wasn't me. I was muttering about needing to find my son a pair of "the right kind" of basketball shoe.

Of course in my universe the right kind of shoe turned out to be the one on sale, which floored my middle son who fancies himself a fashion plate whenever he ventures forth from our domicile.

But that's not the point. The poor guy muttering about the blender was actually strolling through the shoe aisle of a sporting goods store. I wished him a joyous and mirthful holiday season and when I got his attention I told him that I couldn't help but notice he was muttering about needing a blender.

"Oh Lord, I was talking out loud?" He asked.

"Yep," I responded. "And unless Modells has changed their business model, I don't think you'll find a blender in here," I said.

"Oh God, I thought I was at Kohl's," he said.

"But . . ." I started and then stopped. He wasn't going to find a blender at Kohl's either, but I felt if I filled his head with any more information it might explode.

And to quote Dr. Perry Cox, "Newbie you can't be a doctor if your head explodes."

Which brings me around to my youngest son.

This Christmas he felt all of his wishes had come true because he got a season of "Scrubs" on DVD.

This wasn't an expensive present. It didn't require much to make it happen, and yet it brought a great deal of joy to my son's face.

It was the same joy I saw when the woman got her spanks on, and the same joy I saw on the face of the shopper who realized he was in the wrong place - and not crazy because he couldn't find a blender in a sporting goods store.

Happiness comes in such diverse ways and the greatest joy can come from the smallest things.

My 11-year-old seems to be my inspiration lately in finding joy in the smallest things.

Christmas Eve he sat up late and got on-line to view his "Santa Tracker".

He joyously called down to us when Santa was in Japan, Iraq, Germany, etc.

Then we had him go to bed.

He has friends who tell him Santa Claus doesn't exist. He defends his belief by saying, "Come on, do you think your parents really buy you all those gifts?"

Each year he painstakingly makes out his Christmas list and mails them off to the North Pole. In spite of all evidence to the contrary he maintains his faith.

My wife and I have long debated how to discuss this subject with him.

But in the face of what I've seen while shopping, and in the face of all the garbage I go through this time of year, he brought joy to me when others did not.

He's got me believing all over again.

Hey, you have your spanks and I've got mine.

Whose fantasy is better?