CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: PICKIKNG BIRTHDAY GIFT CAN BE RECIPE FOR DISASTER

Someday when I'm finally tired of newspapering, I'm going to go into the retail business.

I'm going to open up a little store catering to old farts (Curmudgeons' Corner), which will serve as a central shopping point for everyone who has to figure out what to give their father/father-in-law/older male acquaintance for any major gift-giving occasion.

Now I just have to figure out how to stock it.

You guessed it: It's Pop's birthday again.

Choosing a gift for my father is a recurring dilemma; by the time I'm in a nursing home, I'll have figured out what I should have been getting him for all the birthday, Christmas and Father's Day occasions when I drew a complete blank.

In the meantime, I'll keep wandering through the mall, looking hopefully at items and then rejecting them with a muttered, "Bad idea."

Part of the problem is malls don't cater to old farts -- the generation to which my father and his peers belong. They're too big, for one thing, with entirely too many boutiques and no hardware stores.

We will ignore the fact that my father has unused wire nuts left over from the Korean War and enough socket sets (gifts from Father's Days past, in fact) to re-tool General Motors; it's not a shopping trip if he doesn't make at least one circuit through the power tools section.

The man only needs so many bathrobes, he's picky about slippers and he has more sweaters than I do. And out of a dozen or so plaid shirts, he wears the same one over and over.

He picked it out himself.

Back to the old farts' store. It should contain a variety of practical gifts (warm sweaters, all of which either button up the front or have V-necks, because crewnecks irritate old farts' chins); gag gift items, like those talking parrot toys; and a selection of software, videos and books.

Finding the right book is the key. My father isn't too picky; he's just picky enough. He likes history, but it has to be the right kind. I've seen "factual documentaries" on World War II that made him laugh until he cried.

He lives alone now and when he actually eats, he cooks his own meals. I thought briefly about getting him one of those "meals for one" cookbooks, but I soon realized all the recipes required using more than the microwave and a skillet.

I looked in every bookstore in Cape Girardeau and could not find a "Cooking for Curmudgeons" volume anywhere.

I guess I'll have to write it myself. I even have the first recipe.

Curmudgeon's Chicken-Fried Steak

1. Check cabinets and freezer compartment for anything worth eating. Find nothing.

2. Drive to local diner. Order chicken-fried steak special with mashed potatoes, peas and extra cream gravy; order decaf to drink.

3. Blush and grumble when waitress reminds you to eat your peas. Debate ordering pie for dessert. Decide on Dairy Queen instead.

4. Over-tip waitress, even though the gravy was too thick/thin/gooey/cold/hot/salty/bland.

5. Call all adult children. Remind them that the decline of cream gravy and the fall of Western Civilization are closely linked. Ask if they need money. Ask if vehicles/appliances are in good working order.

6. Decide, after taking antacid, that you should have gotten the ham steak instead. Let stew until phone bill arrives.

7. When adult children come to visit, grumble about long distance bill.

Now I just need a good birthday cake recipe.

Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian