On Men and Shopping

My wife said that I'd probably end up blogging about this. "Naaaaaah," I said. "I'd rather not relive the trauma." I guess she was right...

It's no secret that the vast majority of men don't like shopping. Okay, it's not that we don't like shopping per se, it's that we shop in a manner entirely different from how women shop, and for completely different things. Men decide that they want something, go get it, and head home, triumphant in their quest. I suspect that this goes back to our days as cavemen. When we went hunting, we knew what we were hunting for, and roughly where it could be located. We went out, got our prey, and came home, victoriously carrying our quarry.

Women, on the other hand, were gatherers. Yeah, they knew approximately what they'd be gathering, roughly where it was located, and about when the food they were gathering was approaching "end of season close-out." But they still had to search for the most adequate food... look for just the right vegetable to go with that newly gathered tubor, and they both had to be ripe to the exact same extent. In other words, women became shoppers due to evolution.

Fast-forward to the present day. Most men think that shoppping with women is absolute torture. We'd rather have a sharp stick in the eye, or electricity applied to our genitals -- and no, not in that kinky foreplay sort of way -- I'm talking about real electricity here. Yet somehow I ended up taking my older daughter shopping for a swimsuit for swim team yesterday. And I not only took her, I also was accompanied by my wife and younger daughter. Naturally, I was on a budget, the clearance-priced suits were all too small, even the inexpensive ones about 20% more than I had budgeted, and she gravitated to the most expensive ones.

Once my wife successfully steered my daughter toward the swimsuits that were only slightly out of my price range (thanks honey), I experienced the "sorting" stage of women's shopping. This is where the women-folk went through and found every single swimsuit that might possibly fit and put them into a try-on pile, which nearly reached the ceiling of a two-story store. They had to ask the sales lady for a ladder, in order to reach the top of the stack (and add more). There's another hour or so of my life that I'll never get back. Not only will I not get that time back, but I am traumatized by the experience, and will probably have flashbacks every time I walk into what used to be my favorite sporting goods store. (Side note: We went there, because I've already taken my daughter to three department stores, all of which were out of swimming suits because winter's on its way.)

Next came the try-on phase. Yes, she tried on every single one of those suits, and yes, I had to give my opinion on every suit. I've been through enough of this though, to only tell her when I thought the suit was too big or too small. Beyond that, I threw it back at her. "Do you like it, honey?" As a backup, she hit my wife and her sister up on their thoughts. Yep, you guessed it, another hour of my life gone, and another flashback next time I go to my former favorite sporting goods store.

Then came the implied "That's not fair" whine from my younger daughter...

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"How much are you spending on Sissy's swimsuit?"

"I'm not gonna tell you that."

"Can I buy something?"

"Not today." Let the pouting begin.

Later I explained to my younger daughter that I'm a little tight on money, and promised to take her out to spend some money in a couple of weeks, which means that I'm probably going to get to repeat this whole adventure.