My greatest fear in life is not a doctor saying I have just weeks left to live, or even another All Blacks No10 going down injured. It's being given one of those horrendously macho power tools or some naff gadget for the car on Father's Day.
No, we're not all petrolheads and, if there's some new shelving to be put up, I'd rather phone a professional.
Such demeaning stereotyping - now we know what it's like for women being bombarded with all those beauty products.
In a desperate bid to flog us stuff we don't want, the retail businesses and their advertising gurus have created this fantasy "super-dad" who, when he hasn't got his head under the bonnet or isn't out hunting and fishing, is wielding a turbo-charged drill and doing some home maintenance.
What an insult. What a ridiculous caricature we're expected to live up to. Dads didn't come up with Father's Day, we're just the victims of it.
Sure, some men are like that - or try to make out they are - boy-racing, sporty, do-it-yourself handymen. But many of us just graft away and, come the end of the week, are too knackered to do much more than mow the lawn.
The best gifts I've ever had are home-made cards from my children. Amid all the phoney posturing, they actually mean something. But, of course, they don't fuel an economy that insists we buy things we don't need.
Most fathers actually do an important job and they don't need it dressing up in icky sentiment.
In that sense, every day is father's day ... just as every day is mother's day.
Tomorrow, all I want is a bit of quiet, relaxing time with my kids, a smile on their faces and maybe ... just maybe, an occasional "Thanks, dad".
