Drop Before I Shop

What is it with women and shopping anyway? I mean, the second you mention the words ‘shopping’, ‘sale’, ‘bags’, ‘shoes’, ’Prada’ or any of those insanely priced brands which design clothes fit for Barbie dolls, things happen. Appallingly abysmal things. For the aforementioned are enough to make any woman drool and rush out of the house before anyone mentions the word ‘bankrupt’. It’s amazing, really. Women have antenna-like ears and no matter how much they glitter, dazzle and create a scintillating aura of wealth through their copious amounts of bling-bling, they still manage to eavesdrop on conversation within a half-mile radius. Especially if those snippets of conversation are centered around the next sale at Mango.
Sure, I’m a girl. But that doesn’t stop me from detesting shopping. The whole idea has never quite appealed to me. Some people find an it okay, once-in –a-while kind of experience. I myself find it irregular and agonizing. After a recent shopping excursion, the scene was this: Me in the midst of a war field of clothes of every possible shade and hue, being ravenously devoured by blood thirsty women of all ages. Let me tell you, the Battle of Waterloo was just about as fierce as this. But this has, of course, resulted in me going colour-blind and becoming dangerously claustrophobic. Don’t worry, my condition is stable as of now.
Oh, and there’s the whole process of trying on the clothes. For some odd reason, the clothes at certain places never mange to fit me. I always have to try on the clothes and then realize that they’re either too tight or too loose. Then there’s the whole production of finding exactly the right size for you. I could have written an entire novel in approximately that amount of time. Who knew that shopping could be this frustratting? Though one of the things that amuses me the most is when women intrepidly traipse from store to store and flit from corner to corner in search of bags, fancy footwear and the occasional necklace. I‘m sure they use them from time to time and all, but I’m beginning to suspect that they shop for them partly to open museums in their houses with a flashy, display of the said materials. Trust me, this is materialism at a whole new level. But, they do frequently say that they find shopping therapeutic and equivalent to finding yourself amidst a world of deep, dark bonhomie. Oh, well. Let them engage in their enlightening endeavours. For all I know, I’d rather drop before I shop.