Where are you registered?
A WEDDING-filled June is upon us, with bad news. The online bridal registry is hurting many small businesses. But it is giving me a brilliant idea. I want to register at Athan's and Mike's Pastry. They don't have a registry yet, but they will when they hear my plan.
You invite people over to your house, right? You tell them not to bring anything, but they do anyway. You are secretly very pleased. You coo over the bakery boxes that waft their way to the kitchen. You could share them with your guests. But you won't. Hours from now, when you should be cleaning up the kitchen, you will open this box and sit down with a fork for just a little break.
Sadly, your friends are from Mars. Everything in the box is made out of figs and raisins. Your friends are so generous, and they would be crushed to know that their beautiful gift will be taken to the lunchroom at the office, where there are other fig-eating Martians.
You're catching on, right? I'll fill out a list at my neighborhood bakeries, wine stores, and florists with my turn-ons and turn-offs. My registry will list everything about me. ''Is against figs,'' it will say. ''Rarely feels full, enjoys baklava, cannoli, and chocolate, but never combined. The cannoli must be mascarpone, not cream, dusted with pistachio, not sugar. Customer has unsophisticated palette, juvenile taste. Moon pies yes, bitter chocolate no. Likes red wine, but it gives her hot flashes. Avoid at all costs.''
I never did register for my wedding, because I thought it was a rude idea. This is why we have two dozen candlesticks from the 1980s but no plates. I thought I was above registering, but now I know that it is a timesaving, thoughtful and fig-preventing device. It's just wasted on brides.
Think of everything you could register for and how easy gift giving will be for your friends. You could keep a running list at the grocery store. The hardware store. Clear Flour Bread. Green Hills Irish Bakery. Bob the Chef's. If you are greedy, like the bride who wants a china place setting, you could register at Fenway Park. You could pick what games you want, by date or by enemy. Oh, wait, there aren't any tickets you can get. Never mind, register for the Celtics. Or stay in greed mode and register at the gas station.
Imagine the new etiquette books, just like for brides. For example, if you register your parking tickets at City Hall, so that your friends can pay one for your birthday, you may only register for meter tickets. You must not register for handicapped space or hydrant violations. That's like asking a wedding guest for cash instead of gifts. Not good form.
Like the good bride, you should keep everything in a very modest price range, knowing full well that people will buy more items if you select things that are cheap. If you sign up for a $100 cake, you'll be given two brownies. Sign up for the brownie and you'll receive a dozen of them. Then imagine the next step: these registries will start recommending more items I might like, like Amazon does. Amazon is much better at picking books than my friends are. My friends give me poetry anthologies that are limerick-free. Amazon knows that I prefer poor quality literature. They can prove it.
So my bakeries will know exactly, precisely what you should bring to our house, no matter what diet I claim to be on. Your host gifts will be heavenly perfection. And your spirit of generosity will foster local businesses.
The fig-eaters at the office are going to be very disappointed. That's OK. The immigration bill won't pass, and they'll have to go back to Mars anyway.
Monique Doyle Spencer is author of ''The Courage Muscle: A Chicken's Guide to Living With Breast Cancer.''
