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Friday, November 18, 2005

Smokey Briggs

Sage Views

By Smokey Briggs

Shopping with a woman - a
good way to ruin the holidays

Ah, the Holidays.

Turkey, pie, dressing, pie, yams, pie.

I like pie a lot. So much so that the holiday season should be my most favorite time of the year.

Pumpkin, apple, mincemeat, peach, coconut crème. The list is endless.

Alas, not all is sugar and spice during the holidays for me, or for most men.

During a time when a man should be perfectly at ease enjoying the fruits of his labor and the well-deserved praise of his spouse for providing said fruits, he is not.

He cannot be because the devil lurks in the shadows during these supposedly blissful days of thanksgiving and celebration.



I know. It is a dirty word, probably unfit to be printed in a family oriented publication, but what can I do. The facts are the facts.

Shopping is evil, and at no time during the year does this evil rear its ugly heads more than now.

It is a shame.

Especially because shopping does not have to be evil.

Men shop and, while necessary and not fun, it does not reach the level of evil.

Much like the Garden of Eden, evil’s handmaiden was woman.

Before you gals start lighting the torches and searching for your pitchforks, hear me out - it is your soul I wish to save - along with my joy of eating pie.

Man shopping:

If a man finds he must trudge to the local MegaLowMart he does so as a skilled hunter, true to his evolutionary past.

First he selects his quarry with a careful eye on the family budget and necessity. A list is made. Tools and weapons gathered.

Either alone or in a hunting party, a man enters the hunting grounds, checks the list and begins the hunt. He stalks each prey animal efficiently and directly, working down his list in an orderly manner.

Soap? To the soap isle. Get a soap and put it in the bag. Paper plates? To the paper plate isle. Grab a package and into the bag. Sweatshirt? Directly to the sweatshirt stand. Select a likely color. In to the bag it goes.

Within minutes the game bag is full, the list checked off and the man is away and onto useful tasks. Like eating pie.

Not so with the female species.

First it is a prerequisite that she be accompanied by her mate, although he has no purpose but to “keep me company.”

Next, if a list is prepared, it is simply camouflage for the real purpose of the expedition, as so many Adam’s have learned too late after Eve handed them “the list.”

Adam thought the list meant something. Actually, it is just a lure to lull him into agreeing to the trip in the first place - kind of like Eve’s fig leaf nightie in the Garden.

Upon entering MegaLowMart, the ruse is thrown to the wind.

Go see for your self.

Peek inside the doors, and here is what you will see:

A man, maybe holding a list, a purse and a slobbering two-year-old, standing near his mate.

His mate will be fingering the sweatshirts, or the socks, or the pants, or the …. “Honey, sweatshirts aren’t on the list,” you will hear him say.

“Mmhmm,” is all the response he will get as she touches every last stinking sweatshirt on the rack.

Eventually she will pull one out that is absolutely identical to the last 25 she touched and hold it up to herself.

“What do you think?”

“I love it,” he will answer, happy to swap a ten spot in exchange for progress through the MegaLowMart.

“What about the color?”

“What about it? Uh, I mean, it looks great on you. Red brings out your eyes.”

“Not too tight?”

“Just around the waist, uh, I mean looks fine.”

Then she will put it back and take a step toward the soap isle. Soap is on the list.

The man will dart toward the isle, but he will be too late.

Actually she was just stepping over to the baby clothes, and the touching of clothing will commence again.

Four hours later, they will emerge. The bags of game will contain many things, but not everything on the list, which the male ate in frustration long before.

The child will be asleep, drooling on the male’s shoulder. His wallet of hunting tools will be worn and empty.

Worst, there will be no pies in the bags, nor even pie making stuff.

“Isn’t it fun when we do things together?” the female will ask, just before she has to jerk her mate from in front of an oncoming Mack truck.

“Honey, what’s the matter with you, you almost stepped in front of that truck. I swear, you just aren’t the man I married,” she will say as she leads him toward the car.

“Must be the holidays,” he will murmur. “They always make me feel blue.”

So gals, lets face it. You tricked us into eating the apple in the first place. You fixed it where we had to work like dogs all the day long. The least you could do is show a little mercy and shop by yourselves, especially during the holiday season of celebration.

And cook some pie. Any pie. It will give your man something to celebrate.

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