Three Words.

Three words, three simple words. These words manage to break even the strongest of men. “Let’s go shopping!” she rattled off with such speed, as if in an attempt that I would not comprehend her and simply agree to what would become an agonising experience comparable to the likes of Guantanamo Bay. While not an American detention facility responsible for various crimes against humanity, the shopping mall is every man’s consumeristic hell.

The constant tug of her hand towards the entrance incites images of a lion dragging its captured prey into his den. This is a terrible idea. The doors open with their own grace and the gush of the air-conditioning uplifts the otherwise dismal mood. “Where do you want to go, hun?” unsuccessfully feigning interest. “Why everywhere of course!” she stated with such enthusiasm it was almost sickly. Going from shop to shop I formed a system to keep myself amused. My mission who I unfortunately chose to accept is to help find the mysterious perfect outfit for the mythical party that evening. The ticking time bomb, being beside me, wasn’t finding said outfit and the chances of leaving the centre unscathed was getting smaller by the second. I have to react and fast. Eyeing down a store which sold overpriced clothes tacked together with minimal thread, I quickly shoo her towards the dresses. My luck! It’s the wrong size. Limiting the disappointment, the next five boutiques are checked with similar levels of success. With frustration reaching critical levels in my partner, I need to release with my most effective weapons: Reassurance and humour. While these techniques are useful individually, in combination it leaves the girl in fits of laughter and de-stressed, which in this situation is the desired result. Now calm, the search continued up and down the centre. Minutes stretched into hours and my legs start to punish me for the disrespect I show my gender. While deploying the well practiced search pattern of ‘wander aimlessly’ in a store which was sporting more reflective surfaces than a two-bit carnival mirror house, the long awaited mission accomplished was sighted. With the purchase finally made and the end of shopping in sight, life starts to crawl out of every crevice in the centre, the world suddenly goes from a restrictive hell to a land of endless possibilities. Using this newfound perspective, I summon the energy to rush for the exits and remind myself that just like jail sentences, shopping should only occur when I have done something wrong.

When will women learn that men detest the ‘sport’ of shopping? Any guy who states otherwise obviously is a blatant liar or has an overly fond liking of Celine Dion. There is of course the exception of underwear shopping. Just once I would like when she says she wants to go shopping for thongs for her to not mean the type for her feet.