In the midst of this wonderful gift-giving season, I have to confess some of the sad lessons I have learned. Gift-giving is a very complex procedure.

Lesson number one - Never, ever buy clothing for a wife or for any member of the feminine gender. If the garment doesn't fit, which is usually the case, it will not be your only problem. Color and style when chosen by members of the opposite gender will only result in a trip to the Returns Department.

As she opens the box there will be a "pregnant pause" which will seem like hours, but it will last only a second.

The best advice is to give gift certificates and let your beloved choose her own wardrobe.

Lesson number two - Jewelry is a very important accessory in a woman's sense of dress.

Many years ago on my day off, as a dentist (Wednesday) I ventured alone into Fortunoff's jewelry department. It was a revelation in terms of the amount of items, quality and above all the prices. Eventually I decided on a beautiful sapphire ring with interspersed diamonds. I thought it was fabulous.

As I paid for it, I imagined myself being nominated for "husband of the year" by Good Housekeeping magazine. I was bursting with pride as I gave it to my beautiful wife, Lorraine.

As she opened the velvet box I was introduced into that subtle but deadly "pause." It only lasted a milli-second but it was as obvious as an atomic bomb exploding on a Pacific island. Something was wrong. But, what was wrong? Surely not this gorgeous piece of jewelry floating in the blue velvet container.

"It's not me!" was Lorraine's quiet statement.

I was wounded. A direct blow had been delivered to my coronary system and my breathing came in short gasps. My taste and intelligence were severely challenged. I managed to speak, but only with great difficulty. "Let's go back to the store and you will pick out your own present," was my answer.

As we waited on the exchange line together we conversed with the young lady standing in front of us. Lorraine showed her the ring and the eyes popped out of the girl's head. "It's beautiful," she gasped. "It's not me," said Lorraine.

"Keep it anyway," whispered the young lady, in a hushed tone so that I could not hear. "Put it in your jewelry box."

The exchange went easily and I forget now if we even replaced the ring. It doesn't really matter.

That "pause" is what I remember most.

That instant, though silent, spoke volumes.