The Shopping Gene

Let me start off by saying I didn’t get the shopping gene.  I don’t know how I could have missed out. My mother was the queen of shoppers.  She would wander up and down the aisles of Target and happily spend $5.98 and celebrate the adventure with a giant Hershey bar, with almonds.  Mom loved going to the five and dime where treasures could be found on every aisle.  She was known to purchase items on Saturday and call the Salvation Army truck on Monday to pick up her donations.  Yes, she would call the truck to pick up two blouses and a pocket book.   It wasn’t the purchase that brought her joy, but the shopping.

My sister Marilyn, can make a day out of a trip to the dollar store and be over the moon to be in possession of a strange looking brush designed with the sole purpose of cleaning under the refrigerator.  Honest, there is a specific brush for that.  I would never know this because I don’t shop.

My daughter-in-law is an incredible shopper.  She is one of those organized people who knows where to find the best deal on everything.  She may have to spend afternoons at the mall but she can file away the date of every sale and she knows when specific items have reached their lowest price.  She and her family are always well dressed in top of the line clothes and her house is a decorators dream.  The down side is it is necessary to actually spend time at the mall.

I just didn’t get the gene, nothing strikes fear in my heart faster than having to go to the mall.  I actually went to Dillard’s in 2013 to search for wedding attire for a grandson’s wedding.  My daughter gave me a long black dress, all I had to find was the perfect jacket  to make it look wedding approved.  I found a lovely silver jacket  on the first trip, which of course did not actually mean  one trip.  I have to find it, think about it, change my mind several times and then look again.  My philosophy held true, if I’m meant to have something it will be there the next time I happen to stop in that store.  Usually that means I simply forget about it and never go back but I was on a mission this time.  Luckily the jacket was still there the following week.  I’m sure that outfit will become the grandma’s traditional ‘wedding attire’.

I feel like an imposter posing as a shopper when I enter any store without the red bulls eye proclaiming Target.  I swear the people at Dillard’s or Macy’s  look at me and know I don’t belong.  Trying to be invisible, I can wander around for an hour trying to find clothes that actually look like something a woman of a certain age would wear.  A small sign proclaiming, ‘women’s wear’ is usually sandwiched between size zero ripped jeans with navel flaunting mini tops and colorful mumus for the  2xxl mega moms.

I feel foolish, I’m a party crasher, other women are having a grand time searching for that perfect little number for this season’s events. I, on the other hand, am just trying not be noticed, picking up first one item then another, with no plan whatsoever.  There is no plan because I  don’t pay attention to the latest style and have never figured if I have a personal style to aim for.  It is just too complicated,

Add to this mix the fact that I’d rather work in the yard or have a seat in the shade with a good book than go shopping any time.  Money isn’t necessarily the problem; I could buy something if I actually wanted ‘it’ but since I don’t know what ‘it’ is I can’t imagine why I would go looking for ‘it.’    As long as I have a reasonably decent pair of tennis shoes, shorts and tee-shirts I’m good to go.

I did have a rather unsettling experience recently when I attended a funeral and realized I was the only female in pants.  I came to the startling realization that I didn’t own a dress or skirt.  I should correct that but . . . . .