Engaged and enraged: Jessa
Boys just don’t understand holiday shopping—the thrill of the hunt, the victory of finding a bargain or the relief of finding the last Rudolph-the-red-nosed-reindeer sweater for uncle Bob.
Sometime after the start of the holiday season, I gather up my purse, which is equipped with all of the essentials: wallet, gift cards from my birthday, grandma’s monetary gift to me and a healthy stash of Chap Stick, and I head to the place where all Christmas dreams live—the mall.
Entering at Sears, where there’s the best parking, I make my way past the red-cheeked refrigerator salesmen wielding their clipboards and their desperate pleas to make a sale, and I find the stores with the cheerful “Everything in the store is 30 to 40 percent off” signs. It is there my yuletide bargains lie.
At the end of the day, when my arms are shaking from carrying shopping bags with inadequate handles and I’m fighting the urge to just lie down in the home décor section on one of those fake beds, I take solace in knowing that I have crossed off every name on my list and everyone will be happy with their gifts.
Bring a guy along for the magical journey that is holiday shopping, though, and the whole experience is ruined.
The girl, thinking Christmas shopping with her male significant other will be a joyous occasion, decides to let said guy in on the fun. She even allows him to drive her there and circle the parking lot several times until he finds a suitable spot that is farthest away from the department store’s automatic doors.
As the two walk through the freezing cold parking lot, the holiday shopping has already begun to lose its luster because the guy will have already started to complain about the number of cars in parking lot G and the number of whining children inside.
Instead of being excited about the treasures that await the couple on every shelf and rack, the guy will shuffle behind the girl like a pouting 4-year-old.
The thrill of hunting for that perfect gift is no longer enjoyable because the girl can’t stop and look at anything for more than five minutes without hearing a sigh of annoyance from behind her that equals in velocity to the air being let out of a tire.
Feeling rushed, I push past the section of jewelry that probably contains the perfect pair of earrings for my best friend and walk, dragging “the boy” along to the next store. This process repeats until we’re both frustrated and ready to kill not only each other, but the screaming children that are throwing themselves on the sticky tile floors outside every store entrance.
Finally, the day is over and instead of feeling satisfied with my purchases, I feel like running screaming from the mall and using my shopping money to buy a plane ticket to the Bahamas.
So, from now on, I will be holiday shopping alone.