The Thrill of Shopping with One’s Wife

When I first received these photographs, they struck an immediate chord with me. If my case it was not the wife, who you will not believe, hates shopping just as much as I do. It was my daughter. I also detest it but when we drew straws about who would perform which household chore, I drew the short straw on this one.

Maybe females attend Shopping School surreptitiously but how is it possible that all my shopping training with her over the years as she was growing up counted for nothing when she reached puberty. All of a sudden here was this little madam explaining to me how one ought to be shopping. The week-end excursion to the local Pick ‘n Pay at Blackheath became worse than plucking one’s eyebrows and just as painful. But she never relented.

The worst was clothes shopping. Instead of my well-honed method of a quick reccie of the clothes racks and then a snap decision, it now became a laborious process of matching colours to other items of clothing which then also had to be purchased at the same time. I was reliably informed that if the whole combination of top, pants and shoes were not purchased simultaneously, they would always be a mismatch.

Then when my daughter reached early puberty, I received the following call.

“Hi daddy. How is it going?”

“Fine. Just fine but very busy. I am at work you know.”

“Yes. I know. But remember that we have to go shopping this week end.”

“I remember. But we go shopping EVERY week end anyway.” I should have been more perceptive at this juncture but surrounded by staff in my office, I was paying insufficient attention.

“Yes. But I need to buy some clothes” she sighed

“WHY? You bought some last week and the week before AND ……………”

“WELL. You need to buy me a bra.”

CLUNK. CKA – JUNG