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Shopping spree sheer torture

   Every year between Thanksgiving and Christmas, there is a tradition my mom and I fulfill. I'm not sure I like this tradition. In fact, parts of it I know I hate. But regardless of like or hate, we do it.
   We shop.
   Now, I'm not talking about your ordinary shopping spree - oh no. We dedicate one full day strictly to shopping for me. It is a chance for me to pick out clothes and other items, within mom's budget, that I want for Christmas. And it's a chance for Mom to get a large part of her Christmas shopping done.
   "That's great, how lucky!" Right? That's what you're thinking. Well, no, it's not great, and believe me, I don't feel lucky.
   You see, there are a couple of drawbacks. The first one being that I hate shopping for myself. I can't remember a time when I ever enjoyed buying things for me. I always feel guilty spending money on material things when I'd rather be saving money or purchasing presents for someone else. And buying clothes is the worst for me because finding things that I like is such a struggle. I'd much rather suffer with old clothes and hand-me-downs from my family than look for something new.
   The second drawback is that my mother despises buying clothes with me. Mom has learned over the years that hitting the stores with me is no joy. Styles that she picks out for me are never what I go for. And waiting hours outside of dressing rooms while I try on mass quantities of shirts, sweaters, pants, skirts and sometimes even underwear isn't exactly her idea of a good time.
   But every year, despite these drawbacks, we hit the stores together. This year was no exception.
   I must have had a look of dread on my face as we approached the crowded mall, because Mom kept assuring me that this was "going to be fun."
   I forced a small smile. "Fun" I thought, "This is fun?"
   It wasn't long until the expected torture began. Mom started getting irritated at me for not liking anything she showed me. I was irked at her for making me go in the first place when I hated it so much.
   But despite these irritations, our hands began filling up with bags of presents - all for me.
   Time was flying, cash was being spent and as the day neared an end, I felt as if I was actually getting into the shopping mode. but not totally, because when Mom suggested calling it a day so we could go home for dinner I was more than happy to follow. another year down, successfully keeping up the tradition.
   You may be wondering why we keep a tradition that seems to be hated so much.
   There is one reason (besides the obvious one of getting all the presents, of course). It is getting to spend time with each other.
   Even though we argue, we always get at least one good laugh in. Whether it be a result of trying on a piece of clothing so hideous you can't help but crack a smile or simply becoming giddy with exhaustion.
   I realize I'm very lucky to have a mom who cares enough about me to suffer through such obvious torture for such a picky child. I doubt I'll ever forget the hours that we shared together shopping; and I know I'll always remember that she did it all just for me.
   Thanks, Mom! I love you!

The Herald-Dispatch, November 1995

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