Shopping is like any other ruthless, repulsive, destructive habit, and furthermore, I think it should be regulated and policed. Anyone caught with more than they need in their shopping carts should face the fact that they may be a shop-o-holic!
As you may have already surmised I’m the poor husband of an admitted binge shopper. My misfortunate wife can’t pass up a deal, no more than an alcoholic can say no to a happy hour.
Much to my wife’s dismay; here’s a story that I like to tell to other husbands about my wife’s need for speed in the aisle-ways and buy-ways of stores everywhere.
There was this mighty shopper who could hunt down and slash the best prices. She could smell a deal from across the food court. Store owners clambered for her attention with sales, discounts and bargain bins. She was the reason they created the sacred day of: Dollar forty-nine day, Tuesday.
The truth is every Saturday without fail my lady love would head to the local shopping center. Then one weekend she felt a little under the weather and decided not to hit the tills for her thrills – that’s when the phone rang.
“Hello”, I said, the other person stuttered “Oh, ah, excuse me, wrong number.” Then they hung up – but I didn’t.
Holding the phone I pretended to listen intently, followed by the occasional, yes, yes, I got it. And with every passing second my wife’s curiosity grew and grew. “Who is it? Who’s on the phone?”
I finally said, “yes I’ll tell her.” Tell me what she exclaimed. With a serious look on my face I told her: “It’s Wal-mart, they’re wondering where the hell you’re at.”
Now I know I’m going to catch it from every woman who reads between these lines. But most men just don’t get the exhilaration most women seem to get from shopping, browsing and wondering aimlessly for hours at a time. I know for myself, I could walk into a store and pick up a loaf of bread, pay for it, drive home and toast it before most women could even get their shopping cart into the bakery isle.
On the twenty-forth day of December I like to go to the malls just to watch men scramble from one counter to another. They’ll grab something look at it and you can tell that they’re trying to match it with someone who’s on they’re list. A complete look of panic, stress and exasperation is written all over their faces – it’s like watching a fuse burning down before it goes boom.
As much as I dislike the chore of shopping; I like clean new clothes, enjoy fresh food and appreciate pillowy softness.
As I look around my home I realize how lucky I am to have a shopper-spouse. In these tough economic times every dollar counts. Just like the food chain in the wild kingdom; shoppers are an essential link in the evolution of business. If a product doesn’t sell, the company goes out of business, and the employees will lose their jobs.
Alcoholics can attend AA meetings drug users have rehabilitation centers even crazy people have safe padded institutes. If a man gets too drunk in a bar they’ll tell him that he’s had enough to drink, and then they’ll ask him to leave – so why isn’t there a shop-therapist or burly buying-bouncer at every mall?
Bernie Bates is a writer and an artist Email him at: email@example.com