With Julie and I still being recent relocators to LA, I expected to have to deal with multiple shopping trips for buying household items during the first month. Even though we filled up an entire 16-foot Uhaul truck with existing possessions, you’d be amazed at how many trips to Target we’ve already taken. And actually, I’m not complaining about Target at all in this post. I love that place. I’m fine with shopping at stores where I can see the actual benefit to me being there. At Target we’ve bought things like a toaster oven, a mirror, a filing cabinet and some additional storage space for our kitchen. I understand these purchases; I’ll use these items regularly.
The type of shopping that automatically turns me into an asshole is when I’m forced into a store that I would never go to on my own. For instance, we walked into Michael’s arts & crafts store yesterday, and Julie tells me we need to get a glue gun, cork board, marbles, a clock kit and sandpaper (fucking Pinterest is suddenly the bane of my existence). Since I’m totally confused by these items and can’t understand how they’re possibly going to affect me in a positive way, I go into one of two modes: Either I turn into the little kid in the picture above and find a place to lay down, or I go into dickheaded sarcasm mode. My brain used an embedded “women be shopping” formula and concluded I was in for a 90 minute nightmare. I decided to take the dickheaded sarcasm route this time.
“Really? We need to make our own coasters and clocks now?”
“We have bottles of glue, gluesticks and superglue at home. Why do we need a glue gun again?”
“Let’s just ask that store employee for the five things you need so we can get the hell out of here.”
And my favorite, “No…you shouldn’t be looking at paint and glitter because you specifically told me you only needed five items, and Martha Stewart’s Paint & Glitter wasn’t one of them.”
When we left Michael’s after only 20 minutes, Julie said I should wait to complain until after I see if it’s really going to take as long as I think.
This leads to my chicken and egg dilemma: Was Julie’s trip to Michael’s always going to be a brisk 20 minutes no matter what? Or was it my constant bitching & moaning and policing of her every move that caused her to speed up? I’m of the school of thought that says the bigger the scene I make in one of these stores, the more embarrassed and annoyed she’s going to get, and the quicker she ends the pain for both of us. You can argue that I’m wrong, but just know that I have 29 years of data from constantly pulling this same move on my mom that says my attitude while shopping directly relates to how quickly the girl I’m with gets pissed off and ends the trip.