She parks her silver minivan in the "Reserved for Shoppers with Children" spot. "What?" she says. "I have kids! I can park here!" She goes inside and breathes the air in deeply. She's wearing yoga pants and her best cross-trainers. This is like a work-out for her, and she's going to be at it all day.
She needs a new pair of slacks. The mall had better be ready for her.
She leaves no shelf unturned, no hanger unhung. She might as well put up some paintings and put down some carpeting in the change room, she's been in there so long. Nothing is right. Nothing is perfect.
She is getting tired and cranky, and is starting to sweat. Someone get her some coffee and a cookie!
This process is repeated in every single store that sells clothing until finally, joy of joys, she finds her holy grail. The pants that seemed to have been made just for her. They look great, feel great, and she can afford them. She loves them.
She buys the perfect pants and leaves the store. But strangely, the search is not over. She visits every store again, in case she missed something, in case she made a mistake.
Having grudgingly satisfied her curiosity, she climbs back into her silver minivan and drives off, avoiding collisions with those coveting her spot, those who will fill her void in the changerooms when she is gone.
She has to see how the pants look again. She tries them on with every top in her wardrobe. A sigh emanates from her boudoir. "I don't know", she mutters. She hates her new pants.
My mother shops like this. I do not. This is why I hate shopping with her. I go to the mall with a male mentality. Get what I need and get the heck out, hopefully as quickly as possible. I don't even scope the scenery. I don't make eye contact with anyone except the people helping me. And when I buy something, it's because I like it. I will still like it when I take it home. And once I've made a purchase, I'm pretty sure I've made the right one, and won't keep shopping for it. I even get antsy if I've been at the mall more than 3 hours. This is why my mother hates shopping with me.
1959 ... Khrushchev pollinates!
2 weeks ago