‘Tis the season for shopping, isn’t it? I haven’t been feeling up to the task though, I’m not sure why. Or perhaps it’s because I sense that shopping has become a perilous expedition. Every year the malls get more crowded, the people are more rabid, the din more deafening. I guess when you spend a lot and get so little, you turn mean and desperate. Imagine mad moms running you to ground with their bursting shopping carts, little old ladies crunching their heels on your toes so that they can take your place in line, annoying gaggles of tweeners blocking the escape route to the taxi stand, metrosexuals snagging your space at the cosmetics counter, oh the horror of it all!
I’ve always considered myself somewhat of a skilled shopper, armed with a list and a sense of purpose, I can zip through the shops and find the items I want in record time. I rarely haggle—I go in, scrutinize, consult the budget, pay up, and then leave. I’m a good customer. I’m not fussy, I don’t demand a lot from sales personnel. I don’t ogle other people’s purchases. I keep my opinions to myself. I don’t even wince when some lady buys a top two sizes smaller, rationalizing, “It’ll stretch.”
But I have limits. The spirit of the season be damned. No more being nice gurl. Cut in front of me as I’m patiently standing in line and I will beat you silly with my fully-loaded shopping bag. Or slash you to bloody bits with my maxed out credit card. Your choice.