Urban Legend: Shopping and Women go hand in hand

I am a female, in the formal sense of the word. i.e. I’ve got that x chromosome thing goin’ on. As further proof, I’m no stranger to cellulite, menstrual cramps, curling iron burns, and silent tears over Celine Dion’s Ode to Titanic. (Tell me that song made you cry, too, the first time you ever heard it.) I’m actually a “typical” woman in more ways than one. I don’t mind asking for directions. I like to smell nice. I’ve never understood the appeal of a Schwartzenegger movie. And things that belong in a garage generally give me the creeps. But, in countless other ways, I am not QUITE a card-carrying member of The Female Gender. In fact, I’m sure there are a few out there who would shudder to know that somebody placed me in the same category as them. For one, it has never occurred to me to ask a girl to accompany me to the restroom, not even when I was sixteen and everybody was doing it. For another, Shopping and I are NOT good friends. SHOPPING. Not to be confused with SHOPPER who is quite lovely indeed. I’ve tried to buddy up to Shopping, take her out for a latte and some scones, let her drive, tell her how beautiful she looks in her new wedge heels. But no matter how hard I try, Shopping just doesn’t respond. Maybe she’d rather be with someone who knows the difference between a wedge and a platform and a platform wedge. Maybe she prefers people who don’t constantly complain about the lack of clerks, the claustrophobic atmosphere, the crappy parking downtown and that funky smell in the Ladies’ Room. Don’t get me wrong, I like Shopping. I do. I’m convinced it’s Shopping that doesn’t like ME. She much prefers the OTHER woman of the house, the one that cooks, cleans, carries boxes up to the attic, and is a big fan of Pilar on Deal or No Deal. I’ve stood witness while Shopping liberally helped him find all sorts of OTHER good deals. In the right sizes. Of the best selections. She fetches him the perfect spatula, the cheapest red delicious apples, throw pillows that match perfectly with the rug, and the size 2 soccer shoes that I would have bet BIG MONEY didn’t exist within fifty miles of us. Shopping FAWNS over Allan. And in return for her juju, he makes sure that she only has to deal with me in cases of emergency, like when he’s on the other side of the mountain and we’re running low on diapers, wipies and tequila. Days like today when I have decided that I NEED new eyeglass frames. The ones on my face right now are slanted. Scratched. Too small for my face. And they’re square. I recently learned that a person with a square face (or in my case, rectangular) should not be wearing square glasses. It throws the universe off kilter. Makes people unusually nervous. Or giggly. Unfortunately, Allan isn’t here to woo Shopping for me right now. So I’ve got to call her up myself, take her to the eyeglasses place and beg her to be kind. If past experience is any indication, she won’t respond to the desperation in my voice, the beads of sweat on my brow, the compliments and complimentary coffee. She’ll sit back and watch me squirm for half a day as I fruitlessly search for a reasonably-priced, NON-square pair that isn’t vermillion-shaded with rhinestones.

I guess I can’t have my cake and eat it, too. I’m not one of THOSE females. I can’t have limber fingers AND the ability to reach the top kitchen cabinets without the aid of a stool. I can’t be able to crochet an afghan AND get a mechanic to be completely honest with me when the air conditioner starts acting funny. I tell you what, though, I’d gladly barter. I’d be willing to give up my direction-asking ability just to be on Shopping’s speed dial. But since I don’t know who to flirt with to make THAT happen, I thought I’d just turn to you, gentle readers. I’ve narrowed it down to three different pair. And, if you’d be so kind, don't suggest contact lenses. As much as I think my face looks better without glasses, people who touch their eyeballs as often as I do really need to not have anymore excuses to do so.

Option 1:

Option 2:

Option 3:


There's always Option 4: None of the above, you sad, sad little thing.