Whittling Away: The art of shopping

My Queen is a combat shopper. She understands the game and willingly accepts the challenges involved. She frequently will go on the hunt and even appears to enjoy it.

She makes lists, checks the sales circulars, and plans her attack to cover the largest area in the shortest time, not unlike a general planning a campaign. She girds up her loins and armed with a water bottle and coupons disappears for days at a time and returns flushed with pride and staggering under a load of large bags that would make a Mexican burro groan.

I, on the other hand, am inclined to wander aimlessly through the vast expanses of the mall, trying not to get trampled by herds of teenagers. Frankly I’m not too comfortable with most of the stores which seem to contain mostly things I’m not interested in or things I wouldn’t want my mother to see me looking at.

Thank goodness for the tool department that can still be found a couple of the larger stores! I recognize almost everything and know its function and use.

I can spend hours comfortably browsing there, unlike Victoria’s Secret. I’m not really sure what they sell there but from the window display, I’d say that Victoria would have a hard time keeping anything secret wearing the stuff they’ve got on the dummies in the window.

About the only time I go shopping is when I’m on a mission — new underwear or shoes or something of that ilk. This means that I can avoid going to the mall. There are still a few stores that haven’t joined the pack, who stand alone and pose no threat for wandering out of them and into another, they cater mostly to males I think. I’m starting to figure them out, when I understand them, maybe I’ll try the mall again.

Last week I decided to go buy some new socks all by myself instead of adding them to the Queen’s “to be killed” list like I usually do. I drove to a large popular department-type store and was able to park within sight of the main building.

A 15-minute hike later during which I was almost run over by an SUV backing out of a parking place and by a mini-van filled with small children and large dogs driven by a frazzled looking former cheerleader, I arrived at the magic doors which promptly opened to reveal an enormous lady pushing an enormous load in a shopping cart who chased me back out into the parking lot where another mini-van almost got me.

At last, I made it into the store where I wandered for a long time trying to find anything that looked like men’s clothing.

I finally asked a 12-year-old urchin, wearing an employee vest, who was setting up a display of Easter things next to the Christmas clearance display, where the socks might be, she raised the stud in her eyebrow, shook her 42 earrings and lisping around the ball sticking through her tongue said that “They’re thom where in the back.”

Armed with this information, I finally found the men’s section. I located the sock section but couldn’t find the wool boot socks I wanted to keep my feet cozy during the coming winter season.

They only had really lightweight dress ones or those cute little cut-off kind worn by those types who refer to sneakers as “tenny-runners.”

I glanced around the department and what to my wondering eyes should appear but T-shirts, shorts, bathing suits — all summer stuff! Where were the heavy coats, the hats and gloves, the boots, they were nowhere to be found? Like I said, I’m finally figuring this thing out.

You can’t buy clothing for the season you’re in, stores stock things a season or two ahead. So I bought a new bathing suit and some of those cute little socks and I’ll come back for the winter things when they hit the shelves — around June or early July. See, I’m learning!

Thought for the week-”You got to be careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there.” -Yogi Berra

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.

To reach Dick, email whittle12124@yahoo.com.