GREETINGS from the land of Gurus, hope you are all having a restful weekend and looking forward to a productive week ahead of you. After the injection of energy I received into my bloodstream from last week’s column about my lessons learnt from commenting about a woman’s face, I decided there was need to write one more.
This one will be about shopping and to a large extent, I have my mother to thank for most of the lessons I learnt about tagging along when a woman goes shopping, whether it be groceries or clothing.
When I was growing up Saturday was the day set to go shopping for all the requirements of the week, I think this still may be the case today. At that time escorting my mum to the market seemed adventurous and a welcome change of scenery from the usual school and home routine.
I also enjoyed seeing the different fruits and vegetables and watch my mum’s expertise of choosing a ripe tomato or a cabbage. She would go from one end of the market to the other looking for that one ripe one which to me with my amateur eye looked all the same.
As I grew older however this fascination suddenly about her ability to pick tomatoes begun to wane, probably because the ice-cream which was treasure underneath the rainbow for escorting my mother wasn’t luring enough or my attention was diverted elsewhere. It is difficult to be admitting this now especially when you consider the fact that my mother happens to be my loyalist reader and number one critic of my work.
Anyway I am sure she will forgive me. I think it is only fair to say that I became impatient. I can understand that there are no two tomatoes that can be exactly the same, and that the difference will be minor. Therefore it really beats my understanding why someone needs to hover around the market looking for that ‘perfect tomato’.
I tried without a lot of success to know what it is that is being sought and when I realised that this ‘awesome talent’ of picking fruits and vegetables is telepathic among all womenfolk, I decided not to hurt my head and to simply stop going to the market with them. I consider myself to be very patient with many things but I have long accepted the fact that grocery shopping isn’t one of them.
I honestly thought going shopping for clothes with my heartthrob will be very different from the grocery experience that I have had with her. To a certain degree it is in that we don’t spend hours on a particular product. However, the thing that I learnt about shopping for clothes is that when she says “let’s go shopping,” she actually means, “I am doing the buying, you carry the bags”.
In all the times that I have gone with her, I think I can count the number of shops that sold men’s clothes and in all these shops, the time that was spent combined is less than ten minutes. My heartthrob recently accused me of not being a gentleman because of the moans and groans she receives whenever we go to the shops together
. I was very tempted to tell her to ask the few exes I had before her but something told me that this statement could most probably land in Muhimbili National Hospital and I will need a couple of stitches and maybe false teeth.
In order to avoid this, I am starting to acquaint her with online shopping but I am hitting a brick wall because she says the experience isn’t the same and she doesn’t get to show off her hubby. Flattering as this is, I am forced to continue pushing for the online shopping because of two major reasons.
She has recently purchased what she calls ‘very fashionable’ handbags though to me they look much more like mini travel bags.
Anyway, with the stuff women are known to carry in their handbags, I fear a day will come (God forbid) that she will strain her shoulder rendering her unable to carry it when I am with her and I will be forced to carry the bag for her. Now I don’t about you, carrying a woman’s handbag and entering into one are personal taboos, just thinking about them makes my skeleton shiver.
I hear over the grapevine that there is new fashion among some men to carry handbags for their partners, just like the wearing of shredded jeans, I will have to pass. In my four odd decades that I have been in this world, I have followed numerous fashions; losing out in these two won’t remove hair off my head.