Blokes, in my experience, are much easier to please in the shopping department. If I need trousers, point me at a decent shop which sells jeans and I’ll come out with a pair. I don’t feel the urge to compare them with every other shop in the county which might sell similar or slightly better jeans. If I like them, I get those ones. Better still, give me a computer and internet connection and I'll order them at home while I'm having a beer.
Women? A woman goes into a shop, finds a top she likes, changes her mind about whether to buy it half a dozen times and then leaves. She’ll then proceed to visit every shop in town, contrasting and comparing. Finally, four hours after she started, she’ll head back to that first shop and buy the very first one she was looking at. If you're really unlucky you’ll have been dragged along for the trip and it’s a journey of despair.
My wife’s not as bad as most but, to my consternation, she catches me out every now and again. Women are devious:
“Fancy popping into town, maybe get that film we were looking at?”
That’ll catch out most men, but I really ought to know better by now. We drive into town, park up and within fifty feet of the car park she’ll “just want nip in this shop for a minute.” That ‘minute’, in reality, is five. And ‘this shop’ actually means ‘all the shops of this type within a forty minute hike’.
I’ve even tried, in desperation, going down the 'being the annoying and embarrassing husband’ route. I loudly point out inappropriate clothing, suggest which items she’d look slutty in, make disparaging comments about styles and prices etc. For a while I started trying things on. It began with hats but, admittedly, I stopped short of lacy underwear. None of it worked. She’d roll her eyes in a way which all her fellows shoppers knew and understood. They don't fall for the same crap from their boyfriends or husbands either.
I guess the obvious solution would be to do the same to her – drag her around a million shops because that’ll give her some empathy with what I’m going through, right? Not a chance. She’d diligently follow me around being genuinely helpful and making useful suggestions. I’d get bored long before she did.
I think it’s partially because she gets an honest opinion. You must know what I’m talking about. Your lady tries on a piece of clothing and she loves it, she’s thrilled it fits and it’s just what she’s been looking for. Naturally she asks your opinion… and you hate it. Me? I’ll give it to her straight and tell her it makes her look like a malnourished zebra. Now, I’ve been accused of being insensitive around this subject by others but what do girls want? A ‘yes man’? Maybe. They’d better not ask me then because they’ll just get my opinion, warts and all. But this is not a bad thing. When I tell my wife she looks great in something she knows I really do think that. Surely that’s better than wondering why I say everything is ‘nice’? Of course it is.
Anyway, what is my course of action to escape shopping trips? The easiest one – I refuse to go on anywhere near a shopping centre without clear definitions on which shops are being visited. I know, I know, it sounds very draconian and devoid of any spontaneity but I’ve had all of that sucked out of me by repeated trips around places which all stock exactly the same apparel. It could be worse for her, I could mutiny on one of her trips and head to the nearest pub. That’d very quickly stop her inviting me along.
Addendum: You couldn’t make it up. I originally wrote the above moan on a Friday evening (rock and roll lifestyle all the way for me) and guess what happened the very next day? That’s right, I was tricked into clothes shopping. Again. I’m such a sucker.
We had some vouchers that were given to us as gifts and the nearest store was a couple of towns away so we (eventually) decided we should head over there. It just so happened that her favourite clothes shop in the whole world happened to be opposite. You can fill in the blanks yourself. It’s made worse by the fact that I had to entertain the two month old baby (in the pushchair which doesn’t fit down any bloody aisle) as she strolled about seemingly grabbing items at random. This is all true, I promise you. She walked to the changing rooms (eventually) where they normally provide you with a numbered token which matches how many articles you’re trying on. This means that if you have two items you’ll get a number two token and you can’t get away with stuffing a blouse down your pants in the changing room and claiming you only ever had one item. The highest number they had was a token with ‘four’ on it and my wife had ten items of clothing. Ten. There’s no help for me and, according to our wedding vows, I have a lifetime of this. I’ve read the small print too and there’s no get out clause for excessive shopping.
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