At the risk of revealing myself as a freak of nature, I admit, I hate...no, wait, I DESPISE shopping. I've been this way since birth when I first flinched at the doctor fanning himself with the bill for his services, but it's gotten a lot worse for many reasons. Like those marathon back-to-school shopping sessions with my mother who, bless her, had to clothe four little girls in something other than burlap or broiler foil. The waiting, the fighting, the threats of decade long punishments all took their toll. Having kids of my own sealed the deal. Sequential and relentless gimmes can wear a person down like a Makita industrial belt sander. Should be a New UN sanctioned form of torture. Unfortunately, my kids, especially my 13 year-old daughter, hold my disgust for shopping over my head with," Why can't you be like the other moms and go shopping with me?" and "You never like to do the things I like to do!" (Exits, stage left, Stomps to room, slams door.) Obviously she forgot our recent shopping spree at Charming Charlie's where a tiny basket of "cheap" costume jewelry can break a bank account. Obviously, she forgot about our trip to the nail salon where I treated her to a mani-pedi (just learned that whole terminology, aren't you proud?) Obviously, she forgot how intimidating a trip to the mall can be. And we're not talking about the infamous Galleria here in Houston, which so happens to be WAY outside my comfortable one-square mile driving area. We're talking about Memorial City Mall, just a couple of minutes from my front door. Just finding someone who speaks English is a challenge. There are probably more foreign immigrants per square inch there than in Ellis Island in the 1900s. Plus, you have to coordinate your shopping perfectly. If you get a couple of carts full at Target first and want to go to Abercrombie next, you can't wheel the Target carts out into the mall. At a certain point, the chart won't budge. I think they have that mutant Magneto buried under the flooring there. So you have to save Target for last or load your car with the Target purchases and drive to the other side of the mall for the rest of the shopping. Walking past kiosks can be a little tricky. Pushy salespeople (yes, all foreigners) thrust slices of soap in your face, ask to see your nails, try to squirt lotions on your hands and nosily inquire about your cell phone plan. But no worries, because I've devised a plan to circumvent their attack. First, put a determined look on your face and walk with hurried yet confident steps that say, "Piss off, peon, I'm important." Never, and I mean NEVER make eye contact, because that's just an invitation to seep into your personal space and latch on like fungus on a week-old slice of bread. Every once in a while, look at your watch because this tells them, "Back off, Jack. I'm late for the G-5 Summit." This only backfires when you look at your bare wrist, which I've done. If you don't wear a watch, fake a heated conversation on your cell phone about the benefits of sealed borders and deportation. Hmm. maybe this whole strategy will work when you come home after work only to find the kids are lined up at the door with every conceivable inconvenient or expensive request.
