I love shopping. Sam does not.
Once when he was going to England, I asked him to go to the Marks and Spencers we used to frequent when we were staying there and buy some knickers and socks for the kids. I even told him the floor the Kids Section was on and the layout of the floor to simplify his search. He lost the list and came back without the shopping and actually told me , M&S have stopped making socks and knickers for kids, Susie.
I love window-shopping and could browse for hours. Sam on the other hand hated shopping of any kind, this side of the shop window or the other side. More specifically he hated shopping with me. If we went together he would find a flat surface in the store to sit on while I shopped. He did not care if it was the base of a mannequin on a stand, a chair on sale or a suitcase in the Travel section. People would stop to ask him if he worked in the shop, or for directions to the rest rooms, which did not amuse him at all. It only irritated him further. Sometimes he would find some other husband who hated shopping as much as he did and they would strike up a conversation to compare notes and pass the time.
If Sam needed to shop, he would stride into the shop purposefully, knowing exactly what he wanted, look at a couple of options, decide in five minutes, pay and leave. Its that Simple, he said.
Sam said that I was a salesman’s nightmare. I would go in aimlessly he said and scan each shelf pointing my finger randomly at this, that and the other.
Could I see that one, please?
The third one from the right, the red one hidden behind the blue one…
The fifth one from the left, the eighth from the bottom of the pile etc…
The poor desperate salesman, Sam claimed, would bring the whole shop down in hope. The counter would overflow with totally unrelated items. All sorts of things, including the kitchen sink, Sam said, would be on display. After scanning everything in great detail, I would pick up my bag from under the heap of discards, smile sweetly at the salesman, say Thank You and leave without a conscience to the next shop to do it all over again. Or so Sam claimed.
You are feeding the psychiatrists new patients every time you shop, he would say shaking his head.
Sam’s sympathies were entirely with the salesperson, whereas I assumed that it was part of their job to show their goodies. Early in our marriage we decided that if we wanted to stay married, we should never go shopping together.
I love you dearly, he said looking deep into my eyes.
But don’t ask me to go shopping with you, he begged with tears in his eyes.
At the end of every disastrous shopping trip, everyone in the shop and would know my name, thanks to Sam.
Susie, hurry up ..Susie, what are you doing? ..Susie, haven’t you finished?