WHEN I WAS ASKED what I wanted for Christmas this past season, I said that was easy. I believe I speak for the majority of American males by saying I wanted a gasoline-powered, turbo-charged can opener.

Fat lot of good it did me.

Despite the growing demand for a gasoline-powered, turbo-charged can opener — and the untapped market it represents — no one has yet invented this labor-saving gadget.

That loss, of course, is a gain for women who are married to or involved with the American male who, upon hearing that such a can opener existed, would march down to the mega-hardware store and demand one. These males would promptly have to go on a waiting list, because such a device would be sold out before it even got on the shelf.

I happened to think about the need for this kind of can opener the other day when the can opener I purchased three years ago gave up the ghost. This wasn't a gasoline-powered, turbo-charged unit, but it wasn't an ordinary can opener, either.

This scientific marvel could open cans — tall ones, short ones, fat ones and skinny ones — but it could also sharpen knives and scissors, seal plastic bags, open bottles of beer, remove lids and cut through those pesky plastic bags with the skill of a heart surgeon.

When I brought home this modern miracle, the Truly Unpleasant Mrs. Johnston had only one question for me. No, it wasn't her usual "have-you-lost-your-mind" question, either.

"Will that thing open a can of soup?" Mrs. Johnston asked, giving the modern miracle her squinty fish eye.

Up to this point in our marriage, Mrs. Johnston had opened cans with some crude device she held in her hand! She would put the can in one hand, line it up with the opener, then she would turn a knob to make it operate. I told her that was like doing the laundry by pounding it on the rocks by a river.

"What we have here," I said, holding the electric can opener, "is the answer to all those wasted minutes and sprained thumbs from turning that knob. No longer will cans of beans be spilled across the counter because they slipped out of the old-fashioned can opener. This baby will not only open the can for you, but it will also hold it in place and even remove the lid. You'll never cut your fingers again."

"I never cut my fingers. That was you," she said. "We'll see how this works."

(I must digress here. I love gadgets. If it plugs in, turns on or fires up, I'll buy it. Or if it has the description "labor-saving" anywhere on it, I'll buy it.

(I've bought a thing called a "Flip-Fold" to help me turn my messy heaps of pants and shirts into neatly folded stacks that Martha Stewart would be proud of. OK, so it really only helped with an occasional T-shirt. Another time I bought a gadget that looked like a hammer but had three different screwdrivers in its handle. When I showed Mrs. Johnston this wonderful labor-saving tool, she asked me if it wouldn't have been easier to just get a hammer or screwdriver I already had out in the garage.

(Ha! I wanted to say. That's the trouble with women. They don't see the big picture. With a lack of vision like that, I wanted to say, we would have never had the flat-screen television or the remote control. Of course I didn't say anything, but I think you see my point. I am through digressing now and will continue.)

Unfortunately, the electric can opener failed to live up to its promise. Maybe it would have, but the instructions were so long and boring that I lost interest before getting to the part on how it worked. I used my time-honored approach to figuring how something worked by playing with it and trying different things.

That goes on until the thing breaks and I have to buy another one. But my dream opener is not invented yet, and that party-pooper Mrs. Johnston bought a new opener.

It's electric, but all it does is open cans!

Steve Johnston is a retired Seattle Times reporter. His e-mail address is stevejonst@aol.com. Paul Schmid is a Seattle Times news artist.