My father wants to smell good for Christmas

On Christmas day, when it's time to open the presents, my father will inevitably shake the package I give him while he's siting in his overstuffed recliner.  It's tradition.

"Is this something that smells good?" he asks every year.

"No, it's not," I reply, focused on my own lack of gifts.

"It's not?" My father slumps his shoulders and pouts.  He thinks it's a bottle of cologne.

"What do I tell you every year?" I look up at my father, still cross legged on the living room floor.

"You get me something that smells good for my birthday."

"And what day is today?"

"It's Christmas."

"Exactly.  Wait a few weeks and you'll get something that smells good."

It's not as if I didn't buy him something for Christmas.  I do that.  I just don't buy two bottles of cologne a year.

Good thing his birthday is only a few weeks after Christmas because I couldn't deal with six months of a grown man pouting.