The annual shopping season has arrived. Time to hit the malls, listen to the endless piping of seasonal songs, dodge sharp-edged packages wielded by other consumers and frantically attempt to find the perfect gift for everyone on the list.
My husband immediately will get distracted in the men's department, the electronics department and the novelty stores. "But we have a long list we have to buy first," I will plead. He will shrug off my protests until he is ready, then push me to "hurry up" as he suggests totally inappropriate items for those in-laws of in-laws that we dare not overlook. "But she has to watch her salt," I will say as he pauses over a selection of gourmet nuts for one. "He has a sugar issue," as he picks up a gigantic box of chocolates for someone else.
"They can re-gift them," he rationalizes.
About three-quarters of the way through our list (and seven trips back to the car to unload packages), we will end up in the bookstore. He heads for the CD/DVD section, I go straight to the Sci-Fi section. About 40 minutes later we meet in the children's section. Weighed down by our latest choices we stop at the coffee shop for something outrageously caloric and some of that coffee that has been tantalizing my senses for the past hour.
Refueled we quickly complete the balance of our purchases and head for the car. My feet are killing me. If we are lucky we find the wait at Olive Garden is reasonable. Then home where I realize as we unload our booty from the car - all that stuff still has to be wrapped!
Ho, Ho, Ho.
Here's what I think...
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