I hate shopping. I hate grocery shopping. I avoid it with great skill. I hate it so much that I have gone weeks without stepping foot in a grocery store. My husband, dear soul that he is, willingly suffers me by shopping at the local BJ’s-the equivalent of Costco on his way home from work. (Yet another reason the man qualifies for sainthood.) And its pathetic that not even hunger really pushes me to grocery shop. But I avoid mall and clothes shopping with even more skill than I do grocery shopping.
My mom recently sent me some money for maternity clothes. It was a very nice, unexpected gift. I have been needing some good summer shoes that will support my increasing girth and not hurt my little feet. I also needed one pair of pants that will not fall down. I realize that you may all shoot me for this, but its not my fault, really. (Blame it on my mom and her good genes which have kept me skinny). It’s just that even the smallest size of maternity jeans are too big on me and keep falling down or are too long. I’m tired of hiking up pants. I know the bump will get bigger, but I can’t wear my regular jeans and I needed something to get me by.
So after six months of avoiding the place, I stepped foot in the mall. I was hoping to find a maternity store and maybe pick up some shoes. My first mistake was forgetting Brooke’s stroller. She was happy to walk, but going to the mall with a toddler means that one doesn’t make a quick, business-like trip. You have to meander through the mall. Brooke is like a puppy in that aspect, things catch her eye and she runs joyfully toward the alluring object. Never mind the mother plodding behind her, cursing the cute boots she is wearing–cute but not good for serious mall walking. What was I thinking? Ah yes, since I rarely go to the mall, I tried to look nice, which included wearing my cute boots. And today was not a good foot day. Stupid me.
Anyhow, back to the mall. So we are walking, or rather, Brooke is scampering and I’m following, trying to keep her on track. She runs to the coin-operated kid rides. I hate those darn rides. I never have cash on hand. I just make fun sounds while my kids pretend to ride the ride. This works well, until some mother (betrayer to all mothers) pops change in one of the rides and lets her child ride. And all of sudden, my pretend noises aren’t that appealing. And my girl starts yelling. I pull her off the ride and we proceed through the mall.
Turns out the mall does NOT have a maternity store. I try Sears, hoping for a little luck. The selection is miniscule and they only carry crop pants. I find a pair of yoga crop pants that look like they might work. I can’t find a fitting room and I don’t really relish the thought of trying to keep Brooke in place while I change.
Since I’m already there, I check out the shoe selection. I do score a pair of good sandals for Walter. But the shoe selection for me is not that great. In desperation I try on a pair of Dr. Scholl’s shoes. They are a little too big for me. I contemplate the shoes, unwilling to admit that I am getting older and do suffer from inflammatory arthritis, so Dr. Scholl’s might just be a good idea. I put the shoes back, still toying with the fantasy that I still can buy cute, cheap shoes.
In the meantime, Brooke has appropriated a pair of princess sandals which she adores. She chatters about the shoes, telling me how much she likes them. I know she expects that I will buy them, but the girl has over 20 pairs of shoes, which seems excessive for a 2-year old. I put them back, she doesn’t throw a fit.
After paying for my purchases, we pop over to the toy store. Dangerous territory, I know, but Josef has a birthday party to go to on Saturday. When I asked Josef what his friend liked, he told me Bakugan and post-it notes. So I bought a Bakugan and post-it notes. In retrospect, I wonder if the boy really likes post-it notes, or if Josef was trying to tell me that He like post-it notes. Either way, I’ve done my parental duty. The gift is bought.
Feeling drained but with a tiny sense of accomplishment, I push Brooke through the mall, aiming to exit the building as quickly as possible, until I get sucked in by the Dead Sea minerals kiosk. What a sucker I am. But the kids running the booth were from Israel and we had a lovely chat about the place. And the products they highlighted are amazing. I’m a huge fan of Ahava. I have never tried the “Obey Your Body” brand. Great stuff. And she did give me a good deal–confirmed from several internet searches. And now I’m set for a year and it didn’t cost me a fortune. The exchange of the pampering salts and chat with two strangers about beautiful Israel really was fun.
So I guess retail therapy was good? Not really. I don’t enjoy the work of shopping. It wasn’t exhilerating, just a necessary chore to be done.
A Stranger Here 