Shopping
As a general recommendation, men and women should not shop together. Men are simple, and shop for something that makes loud noises or makes things explode, and then wants to go home and try it out. Women, on the other hand, for some apparent reason feel the need to touch 1,500 different textures before leaving the shopping centre. I have found that they will even walk 10 or 20 metres out of their way, just to touch something. Obediently, you follow behind and say "Oh do you like that?" and they look at you with startled eyes and say "of course not, its hideous!" Oh. I see.
But the worst is shopping with mothers. Because not only do the mothers feel the need to touch 1,500 different textures, but it doesn't matter what on earth you say to them, it doesn't make a difference. "I'm bored", "I'm tired", "I want to go home", "I accidently cut off my leg", "Yes that one looks good on you as well", "But you have already tried that on. 16 times.", "The apocalypse is coming", "Why on earth did you just walk 15 metres to touch something that you thought looked hideous?" . Nothing. Not even recognition that you exist.
But seperate shopping is hardly possible, unless of course someone doesn't move, because no-one ever decides on a meeting spot.
"I'll meet you at woolies at 3, unless of course I decide that I want to buy some pants, in which case I'll meet you at 3:04 at the fountain, but I might also decide to get some lunch and then meet up with you so I can get your opinion on the pants, and if that's the case I'll meet you at 3:09 at the food court, you'll find me. Unless of course I decide to get take away, in which case you will need to find me somewhere in Canada, because for some reason it's easier to fly over there to get food. Ok, so basically, stay right here until I get back, which could be anytime between now and 6:00am the next day. If I come back and you have moved I will just drive home without you, ok?"
"Yes." No.
"Good."
And then they are gone, and you are left at your new home for the next 12 hours. And you know that the second you move out of sight, they will return, and you will be totally fucked. Particularly if you are with you mother, because even though you live in Hornsby, and there is a shopping centre down the road, the one in Parramatta apparently sells lovely plates. Not that you even end up buying plates. So in your boredom, you somehow end up losing a limb and having to move, and so now you are not only stranded, but minus one limb.
So you limp over to the information desk bleeding profusely in the hopes of somehow paging your lost mother, and you find it vacant. When someone does arrive, and finally agrees to page your mother, the page comes out as follows;
"Would this kids mother please meet them at the information centre on level 1 now. Unless, of course, you are buying lunch, in which case meet them in the car park level 3 on space 166 at 4:56. But if you are still trying on those pants, please meet your child in Amsterdam at 3:07 (even though the current time happens to be 4:30, of course). Or you could just ignore this and hope they find you. Thank you."
To which your response is generally, "Fuck it!" and you storm off and take your own life. That is all.
T.
But the worst is shopping with mothers. Because not only do the mothers feel the need to touch 1,500 different textures, but it doesn't matter what on earth you say to them, it doesn't make a difference. "I'm bored", "I'm tired", "I want to go home", "I accidently cut off my leg", "Yes that one looks good on you as well", "But you have already tried that on. 16 times.", "The apocalypse is coming", "Why on earth did you just walk 15 metres to touch something that you thought looked hideous?" . Nothing. Not even recognition that you exist.
But seperate shopping is hardly possible, unless of course someone doesn't move, because no-one ever decides on a meeting spot.
"I'll meet you at woolies at 3, unless of course I decide that I want to buy some pants, in which case I'll meet you at 3:04 at the fountain, but I might also decide to get some lunch and then meet up with you so I can get your opinion on the pants, and if that's the case I'll meet you at 3:09 at the food court, you'll find me. Unless of course I decide to get take away, in which case you will need to find me somewhere in Canada, because for some reason it's easier to fly over there to get food. Ok, so basically, stay right here until I get back, which could be anytime between now and 6:00am the next day. If I come back and you have moved I will just drive home without you, ok?"
"Yes." No.
"Good."
And then they are gone, and you are left at your new home for the next 12 hours. And you know that the second you move out of sight, they will return, and you will be totally fucked. Particularly if you are with you mother, because even though you live in Hornsby, and there is a shopping centre down the road, the one in Parramatta apparently sells lovely plates. Not that you even end up buying plates. So in your boredom, you somehow end up losing a limb and having to move, and so now you are not only stranded, but minus one limb.
So you limp over to the information desk bleeding profusely in the hopes of somehow paging your lost mother, and you find it vacant. When someone does arrive, and finally agrees to page your mother, the page comes out as follows;
"Would this kids mother please meet them at the information centre on level 1 now. Unless, of course, you are buying lunch, in which case meet them in the car park level 3 on space 166 at 4:56. But if you are still trying on those pants, please meet your child in Amsterdam at 3:07 (even though the current time happens to be 4:30, of course). Or you could just ignore this and hope they find you. Thank you."
To which your response is generally, "Fuck it!" and you storm off and take your own life. That is all.
T.
posted by Sunshine at 2:51 AM
1 Comments:
Agree..
Post a Comment
<< Home