CBMused

For a woman with a penchant for things beautiful, I am often told that I do my fair sex a disservice. I have an intense dislike of one of my gender’s favourite pastimes: shopping. When I shop, I am looking to buy specific items. I do not window-shop. I target the stores that sell what I want and if something pleases my eye, I try on and buy. In other words, I shop like a man.

And when I occasionally partake in this onerous task, and I do need to be in the right mood, I do not wish to be subjected to the sales assistants’ inane banter in the pursuit of dollars, when a simple hello would suffice.

“And how are you today?”
I’ve had a day from hell dealing with a colleague’s ego, and the meeting ran for over two hours… Do you really want to know about my day?

“Looking for anything particular?”
Yes, wasting your time. Stop trying to make yourself busy in front of the boss.

“What’s the weather like outside?”
Glorious. Sunny. Warm. You’re missing out.

“This [item] suits you.”
Not when it’s creasing here and here, and gaping here.

“I always have to take the hem up too.”
Don’t care about you. I’m the one with the Amex card.

This weekend, after an unusually successful shopping spree, and feeling just a tad pleased with my purchases, I stopped at the lingerie section of a department store. The sales assistant noticed the number of bags I was carrying and decided I would be a good a target for mindless chatter.

“Shopping for something special?”
Yeah, something for a night of wild sex and debauchery.
“Not really,” I replied.
“You’ve done well today,” she said pointing to my purchases. “Any special occasion?”
None of your goddamn business.
“Spending money.”

I stepped aside to the adjoining display rack and watched her as she sought her next victim. The woman was carrying a number of shopping bags from various stores, so the same scenario replayed.

“Any special occasion?” she blabbered. “Finally got yourself out of the house, and the kids are away with their friends?”

I watched the look of horror on the woman’s face. She was barely of an age to have “kids away with friends” nor did she look the housebound type. She gave the sales assistant the evil eye and turned on her heel. I did the same, and pitied the next young woman with a little extra weight around the middle for she’d be shown the maternity section.

In the interests of shopper mental health and better credit card swiping, I suggest a simple solution. Shoppers should be given a free remote control, one that comes with multiple options, including a freeze and a mute button to silence the annoying and often invasive gibberish some sales staff dish out in the name of “looking busy” or making a sale. I, for one, would not leave home without it.

After all, I did say I shop like a man.