Ever.
Especially during the few remaining days before Christmas.
That’s because we go to a mall, and the very first questions we ask ourselves is:
What the heck am I doing here?
No plan. No strategy. No tactics upon which to rely.
In short: lambs being
Instead, we wander.
Aimlessly.
In search of the perfect gift that we haven’t thought about.
We walk by foreign lands with names like “Ann Taylor” or “J. Crew.”
Who?
Oh, we’ve heard of Tiffany’s, but guys know better than to get sucked in there, lest we lose our shirts: Tiffany’s is only approachable the day before Christmas if you’re really desperate.
We try to look like we have a clue, browsing and all. A helpful sales person comes up and asks, "May I help you?" and we politely state: "No thanks, just looking."
That's because guys never ask for directions: it's a sign of weakness.
So we continue, roaming. Lost. Looking at all the people who seem to have a much better plan than we do, carrying those big bags and all.
But there, like an oasis amongst the desert of untouchables, is the Apple Store. Simple. White. Comprehensible to men. Teaming with people, all looking at little expensive electronic gizmo’s like Romans amongst aphrodisiacs. Transfixed. Mesmerized. Stupefied. Like moths to a flame, they come. Drawn. And next to them stand a bunch of black-shirted skinny twenty-somethings with black-rimmed glasses wearing electronic money-suckers on their belts demonstrating the gadgets. The lowly gents mouths hand open. Small amounts of drool appear. Dripping.
Then the phone rings and terror strikes:
“Hello?”
“Honey, are you just about done shopping? We’ve got a party in 30 minutes.”
“Uh, just about, honey. Be there soon.”
And to their terror, they realize they have to come back…
… to shop again.
-Wes
You could always hit up the neighborhood drug store. On Christmas Eve. Thirty minutes before they close. It happens.
ReplyDeleteDude; not only are you a great doc, but you've got some actual writing props here. I mean, you always write good stuff, but it's usually your subject matter more than your style that hold me spellbound. (Nothing *wrong* with your style; you just say what you need to say and then stop, a style many bloggers would do well to emulate.) Not this, though; it rocks. (Except for the title, which should be "Led" to slaughter. Unless you're talking about lambs made of a soft metal found in paint chips in old homes responsible for significant childhood toxicity.)
ReplyDelete#1 Dino-
ReplyDeleteHeh. Man, it was a long day shopping. Thanks for the correction. Sometimes as a neophyte writer I wonder if English is my second language... or maybe I did chew on some lead in my childhood...
Two words: Online shopping
ReplyDeleteOh, wait, you can't do that last minute. Well, you can at some places if you pay the overnight fees.
I hate shopping, too, and I'm female.
If the gift recipients are women, chocolate often works...(but the later you are, the bigger the box needs to be)
ReplyDeleteMarco