The older I get, the less I like Christmas gifts (shopping for them, anyway) and the more I wish I could officially reserve holiday presents solely for children, who are so demonstrative and easy to impress that they make even the most gigantic hassle worthwhile for the looks on their faces when they come downstairs on Christmas morning.

Sometimes, though, you’re made to feel like a great big Grinch if you don’t like shopping for holiday presents for your family and friends.

There’s a commonly experienced but little-talked-about feeling — well-documented in movies, TV shows and books — of great weariness that descends upon the shoulders of those who are shopping at Christmastime. But we’re expected to behave as if that’s not true for us, as if we’re doing it all with a smile.

There are, it must be acknowledged, people for whom gift-giving and receiving is a luxury out of reach. There are poor children whose parents have no money for piling presents under the tree. There are soldiers in the Army serving in faraway places who can only dream of walking through a mall in search of just the right pair of leather gloves for grandma.

Every year, I tell myself I’m keeping the list short this year. Only close family are making the cut.

OK, well, close family and really good friends who might also be getting me presents, leaving me humiliated if I don’t reciprocate.

Hmmm … close family and really good friends and the kids’ teachers and my office Secret Santa and a couple of presents for Toys for Tots and the white elephant party present, plus something small for the babysitter and the soccer coach, and apparently Uncle Ralph has decided to come to Christmas dinner and he won’t have anything to open during the gift exchange after he cut his son off for getting a COVID vaccine.

Oh, also, the postal carrier left an envelope in the mailbox the other day with her name written on it in all capitals so we won’t get the spelling wrong, so maybe a gift card there, too.

This is my fate as an American: I consume. I make lists and I shop and I buy, and only the fall of Western Civilization could change my yearly wintertime fate.

In one way, at least, it increases my anticipation of the day itself. On Dec. 25, I’m full of holiday cheer, for the greatest joy of the season has arrived: It’s the day the Christmas shopping is all done.