On Shopping—With Women

On Shopping—With Women

Most guys hate to shop. I’m no exception. I shop when I have to; once or twice a year maybe, not counting Christmas. A couple pairs of jeans, some shirts, underwear … maybe some socks, and I’m set. Now, I’d rather mow every lawn in the neighborhood than go shopping. But then there’s the occasional occasion when there’s no avoiding going shopping ... with a woman.

My son is getting married in a couple of weeks and my girlfriend wanted to get something new for the wedding. Oh, woe is me. She asked if I’d go.

“Me? You talkin’ to me?”

“I want your opinion.”

“Okaaay. You look good in everything.”

Well, that didn’t work. What can I say? I was trapped. Visions of traipsing from store to store passed before my eyes, like your life when you think you’re gonna die. Back and forth, from one store to another then back again. I mean, how many times does one have to visit the same store? I saw myself following her like a dejected child—pouting, standing around while she rummaged through rack after rack trying to find something that:

Fit.

Didn’t make her look fat.

Was pretty.

Didn’t make her look fat.

Was appropriate.

Didn’t make her look fat.

So she drags me to the Mall. There must be a thousand stores in that place. And I fully expected to visit each-and-eve-ry-one. She likes Macys. So that’s where I park. Who knew the store she’d actually buy in was on the other side of the planet.

The dressy dresses are on the second floor. Thank the Lord, there are escalators. We head upstairs and walk a mile or so to the dressy dress section. She begins her run. And I wait. A day later, she says: “I can’t find anything. Let’s go to Penney’s.”

We walk to the other side of the Mall. She starts another run. I wait. “There’s more dresses downstairs,” she says, so down we go. This time, we have to use the stairway outside the store because it’s closer than the escalator. Well, that’s fine with me. It was downhill.

“There’s nothing here. Let’s go back. I want to look at one I saw upstairs again.” Now, it’s uphill. Two landings. I hate stairs. She decides “we” need to go to another store. We pass Sears.

“Let’s try here.”

“Sears? You need power tools?”

“No, silly. A dress.”

It may as well have been power tools, since there were no dresses she liked. We make a beeline to Boscov’s. Nothing. Back to Penney’s. We come to a set of stairs that look awfully familiar. Up we go.

“I can’t make up my mind. Help me.” She disappears and comes back wearing the first of seventeen dresses she picked out.

“I like that one. Let’s go home.”

Ooooh-noooo. I have to see each one. Eventually, she settles on one she likes.

Finally. "You look great. Let's go home."

“I need accessories.”

“Accessories? What, … like an AC adaptor?”

Over to the shoe department.

“I’m not paying $80 for a pair of shoes. We can find them cheaper someplace else.”

Great! Now she’s frugal. Payless here we come.

After Payless, there were four other shoe stores. None had anything that matched the dress. Back to Penney’s. I forked out the eighty bucks hoping to get home before the turn of the century.

“Okay, just one more thing.”

Another “thing?” How many “things” do women need? This is a one-day affair, not a camping trip.

Back to Payless. Handbags.

“Why didn’t you just get the handbag when we were here the first time?”

“It has to match the shoes.”

“Don’t the shoes match the dress?"

“Yes.”

“So? …”

“So it has to match the shoes.”

“????”

“Weren’t you just here?” the saleswoman said.

“Yeah, in another lifetime.”

Back to Penney’s. I think I’m gonna buy stock.

“The wedding is outside, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. So?”

“It might be chilly. Help me find a bolero.”

“Okay. … That’s some kind o’ hat, right?”

I never heard so many women snickering at one time.

Well, I have to admit. When we did finally get home, she put everything on and looked stunning. I decided it was worth the trip and then some.

“You know,” I said, “next to my son’s new bride, you’ll be the prettiest woman there.

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