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Red has become a dominant colour and wafts of chocolate are common in the malls. Florists estimate, calculate and then call on wholesalers to deliver an array of blooms too vivid, gay to describe. It must be the time of year.

St. Valentine's Day is but a snap of the fingers away. The frenzy is on! Only the unattached, unconcerned or broke stand to the side, watch the various tokens of unbridled affection be snapped up at less than bargain prices.

For my part it is always a bit of a mystery why this occurs. Why is it a kilo box of calorie-rich candy or a clutch of roses is considered the ideal way to demonstrate that a man holds a woman supreme? Why not a box of cigars, a case of motor oil, even a new pair of gloves?

It seems we, that is adults of certain political stripe and sanitized persuasion, are conditioned to follow the norm, buy the suitable symbol of affection. At no other time of the year are we so ridiculously sentimental.

Show up with a large box of double fudge charms in mid-summer and a woman immediately assumes you, the male, have been up to something wrong. Try to explain away a dozen long stem roses, a new negligee. Right! You cannot.

Even worse is when a husband turns up unexpectedly with a bag of oranges, a garden shovel or a new, shiny pair of army boots. Does a wife understand, consider the token a valued gift of love?

I know because none of the above works in my home and are even less valued in my pal Three Beers' abode.

For more than a decade he has come to me for advice on the ideal gift for his lady love at this time of year.

Last year my suggestion, a nice pair of snow tires, landed him in the doghouse for weeks. The year before it was a value pack of laundry soap. Top quality stuff to be sure. But he languished in the doldrums as a result. Every year we have picked something out of the ordinary, novel and usable but definitely not appreciated.

Seems the lady has other ideas as to what is acceptable or not. But whose devotion is the gift supposed to portray? It seems only the standard, bland and average chocolate pack or dying flowers are suitable.

The time he gave her a perfectly fine set of crescent wrenches, in a nice vinyl presentation case, nearly caused a divorce. The year after he bought a huge selection of fancy chocolate pieces, each filled with a different centre. She was on a diet.

What takes place between man and woman is none of my business. Or so it seems. But his chagrin affects our time-out sessions. Even Bottom Line, our accountant pal, notices the stress and offered Three Beer a discount for doing his income tax.

Bottom Line has never married, so his input is not valued, only envied. His "let her eat cake" smacks of history and serious trouble.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained is my new motto. I have enough trouble selecting my own choice of gift.

If St. Valentine knew what trouble he was generating for mankind he would have changed his name. Still, it does move a ton or two of candy and makes more than a few shop owners happy.

But why is pink candy floss not on the approved list?