My son is coming home from college and needs to buy some
clothes for school. After all, it is
starting to get chilly, and the shorts/tee shirt combo is probably starting to
wear thin. I offer to take him shopping
this weekend while he is home picking up his car to take back to campus for few
days (Hurrah! He can drive himself home
for the Thanksgiving break!). He
declines my generous offer, saying he has to get back to school (translated:
party) but that we can go shopping next weekend.
Next weekend … NEXT WEEKEND?
What the … Does this boy not know what happens next weekend?!
I recoil through the phone when he makes this nonchalant
suggestion. He's a teenaged boy (still)
and really has no wide-spread awareness of life outside of the college cocoon,
which is fine and exactly how I want it.
But I almost have a stroke.
"Dude," I scream into the receiver, "are you
insane?"
"What? Why?,"
he replies, his voice reasonable and innocent.
"We could go to the mall next Satur--"
I cut him off.
"ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?! THAT'S BLACK FRIDAY WEEKEND!"
This is the same child who waited in wee-hour Black Friday
lines through the dark and the cold to buy a video game two years ago; who went
with his sister last year to freeze his ass off in line at Best Buy through the
frigid Black Friday Witching Hour. And
now he is planning an excursion into the fray for pants?
"Please," I beg, near tears, "please don't
make me do it. Please. Can't we just stop on the way back tomorrow
after I pick you up? I'll come get you
early. We can go to the store. I'll buy you whatever you need. I'll … buy … you …. I'll … I'll buy you a
condo, an island, a … giraffe! I'll buy
you a goddamned giraffe if you just don't make me go near any stores next
weekend. Don't make me do it! DON'T MAKE ME DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I am screeching now, and my voice sounds like
a cacophonous melding of pre-committed mental patient and a banshee.
I am not a shopper - never have been; never will be. I get hives just thinking about
shopping. As a matter of fact, just
typing up this post about shopping is making me queasy.
Some people love Black Friday. Some people plan their entire holiday season
around it, including the donning of elaborate matching costumes and making
lunch reservations. In short, Black
Friday has become a full-contact sport.
Under normal conditions, I thrive on full-contact sports. A little blood, sweat, tears, and broken
bones never hurt anyone. But this ---
full-contact shopping bags, pocketbooks, and feather boas -- this is entirely
out of my realm of comfort.
I will try to convince my boy to get his pants-shopping done
on this trip home from the university.
If that doesn't work, I will gladly hand him a wad of cash to go do his
own shopping. He can make reservations
and take his new giraffe (remember, it's the one with which I have bribed him)
out to lunch. But he cannot make me go
near a store next weekend. It's just not
going to happen. I love my kids and I
think they definitely should be properly clothed for the elements, but I also
value my limbs and my sanity.
Damn you, Black Friday and the official opening of the
holiday shopping season! Let the
anti-shopping hibernation begin!
