There is absolutely not one good thing to be said about what has become a national pastime for the fellow members of my sex and I just don’t get it. I hate shopping, period. My loathing begins with parking lot traffic and extends all the way to the paying for anything. Most people find that an unusual quality in a woman, but my husband, Joe doesn’t care what my problem is as long as it doesn’t involve spending money, so we are pretty much on the same page.
During our first trip as a couple to the local Super Center, with no verbal plan, we slid in the oil change entrance and split up. By the time I grabbed cold medicine, a Christmas Gift and contact solution he had 65.00 worth of groceries checked out and loaded in the van, leaving me in awe, and begging to marry him.
Retailers do not make it easy to enjoy the experience. Super Centers cross-market so well, that there have been weeks I can’t afford the trip to pick up the “cheap” diapers. One six dollar bag of diapers and a $174 dollar receipt later I can’t help but wonder what was so bad about paying drug store prices after all. If anyone ever listened to me they would serve cocktails.
Home Improvement stores are a great place to enjoy a little sexual discrimination. I can walk in carrying a fixture I need to replace, dressed in nothing but cash and wander the isles for days before locating an actual employee. Joe hits the front door and suddenly the cast from a Broadway musical is there to serve him. I am still carrying the cash, but no one, including the cashier seems to notice. I know this because she always hands him the change.
Don’t think I make exceptions for clothes either. I never have anything to wear and I don’t care. Besides my cash suit, I own 1 pair of blue jeans with a hole in the butt, 2 pairs of shorts, 18 pairs of sweats that don’t fit because I refused to try them on and 4 shirts I bought in high school. Joe has begun to protest the hole in my butt and actually suggested I buy some new clothes. I settled for camouflaging the hole by wearing his shirt.
My best friend makes it her mission to drag me kicking and screaming to the nearest mall no matter what the occasion. I pass the shopping hours constructively, sitting on the floor by the fitting room pouting. She counters by finding things for me to try on and nagging me until my ears bleed. At this point I have to strip naked in front of a 3-way mirror under fluorescent lights. If I liked seeing myself naked I would put a mirror in the shower.
The worst of it is grocery stores. The children can consume 6 boxes of cereal and a side of beef before lunch and since Joe gets paid for his job, I have to put down my typewriter and be the shopper. I cannot physically make myself pay a dollar more for a bottle of ketchup when I know which store has it for less, so I fuel my own fire by hitting at least 2 a day, where I always have a buddy.
My buddies are the shoppers that are oblivious to grocery etiquette. They pop up every other isle to impede your progress before beating you to the checkout. These people always have issues with the cashier and always pay by check. I want check writing outlawed. Haven’t you people heard of a debit card?
Now shopping on the Internet is a hobby I can deal with. You can’t get lousy service from a computer and the cross marketing isn’t too bad if you have a good pop up blocker. There is no one trying to run you over in the parking lot, no fitting rooms, no check writers, no salesmen, no hours, and you can wear your jammie pants, which is the best reason of all. Joe wore my camouflage shirt today so I am sitting at home with a hole in my butt.
