Shopping (mis)adventures

As a resident of this mercurial city, where shopping is the national past-time, one would have thought I might have acquired a few shopping skills myself. Alas. If only. My visit to the mall yesterday proved (yet again) that hitting the shops remains a challenge for me.

Whilst there were no real sales to speak of (surprising, since it’s the holiday season) Festival City was bustling with people. Women in pencil heels longer than my neck walked about with apparent ease and some others looked as though they had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue. And on stepping out they entered the lovely shops, picked, tried, bought, ate and happily left the mall.

Now, let’s talk about me. I gazed at the beautiful display outside the stores, and wondered how the shop guys manage to create such perfect displays. In every single mall, each and every store has such impeccable showcases! I mean, do you ever notice that the decorations (season-wise, in this case Christmas) are just so – not too dull, not too gaudy, just perfect. The mannequins, (happy family) are tastefully attired and make you want to dress in pretty much the same way. The handbags on display (precariously balanced on a glass pedestal) look elegant amid the various decorations that surround them.

I walk inside the store – and am over-awed by the sheer choice I have. A molten-chocolate handbag lures me, and the coffee-coloured one looks simply divine. And oh – there’s the cream coloured bag, just like the one on display. I sigh, and begin looking at other things, only to swamped by options once more. I end up buying nothing.

DH is an exasperated man – he can’t understand why I spend so much time inside the shop and still am empty-handed. He tells me I space out like slow-processing computer, I tell him to please take a trip to outer-space. (More on that later). Yeah, so where was I?

If you think this particular blog is an utterly boring waste of space I wholeheartedly agree. In fact, to be honest, most of the stuff I write is gibberish and as you can see I do not pretend on being brilliant at all. Rather exhausting, trying to prove how wonderful you are – when in reality you’re just plain old you. Sorry, side-tracked again. Right, I was talking about the purse, wasn’t I?

After a few more looks of pure agitation (with something bordering on pity) from DH and fruitless trips into many stores, I realized that I must make a choice and buy SOMETHING. I realized: “I need a new purse, really do. The one I’m using looks as though it’s seen better days as it hangs unwillingly on my shoulder, threatening to fall down and die. After all, it does carry a lot of stuff – a pack of wipes, diapers, wallet, oh you name it. Loads of stuff in there. I do have the other one as well, but that’s a Coach heirloom passed on to me by mom, and I don’t use it much.” So looking at the frayed zip and general malaise sported by the purse I was carrying – I picked something new. I did, I CHOSE it.

And with a flourish I paid up at the counter for my brand new handbag. Cool, big and hip. The ride back home was punctuated with pleasant day-dreams about the purse and I couldn’t wait to transfer all my belongings to the new one and hopefully bid farewell to my ageing (but much-loved) wallet as well. I tore open the carrier bag as soon as I got home, only to find a tiny flaw with my cool, big, new, hip bag. It doesn’t have a zip. WHY do they make bags without zips? I can just imagine a pack of wipes and diapers and other ahem.. embarrassing stuff falling out as soon as the little one does random karate practice around the house, or worse, when we’re at someone’s place. I’m not even thinking about what would happen if the wallet fell or cell-phone fell out. For the record, there isn’t much cash in there anyway, but my barely above the water ATM card deserves a better home.

Thanks to similar experiences in the past, I’ve saved the bill and asked the sales-lady (assured woman, knew her stuff, she did) if I could return it if I didn’t like it once I got home. She told me I could exchange it, but only within a day. DH is a relieved man (the shock of me making a correct choice would’ve ruffled his calm demeanour, nay?) who smiles at me somewhat patronizingly – men do love being right and all that tosh. So thanks to the store’s one-day exchange policy, I’m signing off to gear up for another trip to.. err.. the mall. I’m lovin’ it. Yeah right.

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