Blokes love to bag us women because, apparently, we love to shop. I don’t mind shopping, but I don’t do it very often – and I’m not particularly good at it. That’s because:
- I can never find what I’m looking for (except when I’m NOT looking for it)
- I’m always between sizes – and I always have been, even when I was 50kg (yes, yes, back in the day…)
- The fashion at the moment is frump-city. I mean, my Great-aunt Dot could shop quite happily in even the hippest shops these days. I put this stuff on and I cringe. I do not aspire to look like Great-aunt Dot, and while I might wish to be as tall and thin as a runway supermodel (who looks vaguely sexy in this stuff), that ain’t going to happen in this lifetime!
- I can’t work out what my style is anymore. Possibly because it’s sweltering out there and I’m a jeans, boots and jackets kinda girl. I’m also getting to that age where crossing the line to mutton-dressed-as-lamb is a distinct possibility…
- I could opt for those arty designer styles, but I’m afraid I hyperventilate at the pricetags. And there’s something about crushed linen that makes me feel so… crushed.
There are some things I hate about shopping. I raced out today to look for some shorts and – surprise surprise – I found the perfect pair. I drive home feeling very proud of myself, take them out of the bag, and discover the big plastic, ink-filled security tag is still on them. Now I have to go back to the shop (almost an hour round trip) to get the girl to take it off – after ringing the shop to say I’m coming in and no, I didn’t steal the shorts!
And then there are those sales people who forget that being at the front counter might actually involve serving people – and that some level of customer service is part of the deal (and what they get paid for).
Unlike the Gen Y shop assistant in the cupcake shop at [beep]. Recently, I went in there with a friend to choose four cupcakes. But can Ms Gen Y smile? Or speak? No. She stands there, eyes rolled to the ceiling, while I take all of 30 seconds to make my choices. She dumps the box on the glass counter, takes my money, and gives me my change – all as though I am wasting her valuable time.
My friend and I are literally standing there like stunned mullets. Is this girl for real? I wonder what the shop owner would feel about this person, ‘the face’ of the business, acting like this? It was the first time I’d been in the shop – and it was also the last. And I now understand why there’s never anyone much in there. You can’t blame the cupcakes.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Otherwise I wouldn’t be between sizes for long.
Oh, and for the record, I don’t have a Great-aunt Dot.
cheers
Lou
the art of moi 