The Mall. Dear God. The Mall.

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What do I have in common with my heterosexual brethren? Aside from the fact we all like to stick our wieners in somebody’s mouth? We all hate shopping. Hate, hate, hate it. In any form or fashion hate it. Not just Christmas – any time. I have mentioned, have not I, how thrilled I was to discover you can buy clothes at Costco. I would never venture beyond there and Walgreen’s if I could help it. But Christmas rears its ugly head and I’m faced by my two problems: I love to give presents and I love to get them. I don’t particularly care what’s in them, I just thrill to the big, unopened pile of them, the mystery, the possibility of them.

So, that finds me this afternoon in Bloomingdale’s, the nadir of a man’s shopping experience. All I wanted was some shirts for R Man, but no, that’s asking too much. I picked over racks of crappy, really expensive schmata that couldn’t have announced more clearly its origin in slave labor sweatshops if it had a logo consisting of shackles and whip. All of it trying so very hard to be so very hip and failing miserably and all of it apparently targeted towards skateboarding suburban boys with mommy’s credit card. And why on earth would that market be in Bloomingdale’s? Even I, in my failing decripitude, could find a hipper store than that without breaking a sweat. The whole place seems to be shrieking “Weren’t the 80s a bitchin’ decade?” Well yes, but time to move on, darling, move on. And so I did, fleeing to the mall outside and running straight into a lounge area filled with middle aged guys parked there by their wives. I’m sure their glazed, bitter expressions mirrored my own. For an instant I was sorry not to have been straight, so I could have sent the little Missus off handling the shopping while I sat glumly thinking about porn. But then I remembered, you know, vaginas and all that. I decided it isn’t worth it.

So here is the statement that truly reveals the depths of my stodgienss: “Thank god for the Docker’s store.” Well, it’s better than Walgreen’s.

8 responses »

  1. Darling, this is one of life's little tasks that you truly detest, you hire a little errand boy. Just look up a personal shopper/assisting service during the holidays.

    There. Done.

    While your little minion is out braving the crowds, you are downing a lovely bottle of champagne whilst listening to the best bitchin' 80's tunes.

    Like

  2. The 80's were fun. It's the 70's that I don't remember…

    HOW divoon of you to brave the crowds for R Man's Christmas joy. And I agree with your big pile of gifts…it's the possibilities AND the anticipation that makes me a kid again. Minus the footy PJs.

    OOH! My word verification is “stable”…I think Santa is preparing me for that lil' pony, finally!

    Like

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