Hit me with your Best Shot

It's a form of masochism. 

Like standing still in front of a group of ten year olds armed with water bombs. Hit me with your best shot. Fire away.

I obtained BRUISES at the mall yesterday. I was run over by a Jeep-sized stroller with shopping bags hanging off the sides and a screaming baby inside operated by a mangy-haired hippopotamother. I, naturally, said "OWWWWWW!!!" really loudly to which I earned a filthy glare from Ms Elephantitus and her two accompanying sprogs as she manoevered her Jeep onto the escalator near the chemist, narrowly missing the Salvation Army man's stall. (No, I'm fine, don't bother checking. Even though I have skin missing from my toes, I'll just pull over and search through my bag for that emergency elastoplast I carry for JUST these occasions! COW!)

Brad the Tradie reminded me later, when I was whining, that I didn't really have to go to the shops. All I had to do was post the Christmas cards. And a parcel for my new nephew both of which could've been done at the Postal Depot. But i HAD to pop into Coles.  And check out the DVD sale at Sanity (I'm on holidays... i need movies... an essential stop). And try to get the electric little-Dutch-pancake-maker in the K-Mart catalogue for my mother's birthday (Sold out by 9:25am? Please. You didn't have any did you? What about the Mr Avalanche icecrusher? OHHHHH, sold out already too? Glad I got out of bed and rushed down here so that you, underpaid as you are oh 16 year old shop assistant, could tell me they're sold out just because you don't know where they are! No, don't bother offering to look out the back. By the time you come back I'll be in a NURSING HOME! Yes, my toe's bleeding onto the floor, stop LOOKING at it!)

Over an extra-hot skim chai latte and a caramel creme brulee frappacino this morning (at a shopping mall of course), my friend Melon and I grappled with our choices when it comes to going near the shops this week. We, of course, were masochistic to the max by being at the busiest mall in Canberra whilst undertaking this analysis, and practically had to yell at each other over the din of pissed-off shoppers passing by our table. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Catching up with friends, then doing that extra bit of shopping is, in theory, a really good idea. Two birds, one carpark. Need a couple of loaves of bread, some extra Santa stuff ("Where DO you get those stick-on earring things that four year olds like?"), exchange gifts, have a latte... But as we noticed the lack of 'ho ho ho' around we got to looking at alternatives to being mallrats the week of Christmas.

Online shopping is really convenient (once you memorise your credit card number and get friendly with the Australia Post guy so that he only gently throws your purchases under the gate). But, as Melon pointed out, you can't TOUCH the stuff before you buy it. And you have to make your own latte. Good for books, giftcards... beige gifts that don't need to be touched, shaken, tried on or examined internally.

Another alternative is to outsource.

I'd kind of like having a personal assistant (actually, four bodyguards like Britney would just about do the job!) after my friend Organica made, assembled, tagged and delivered most of my presents this year. All I had to do was wrap them. Which I totally buggered up, because in a moment of stupidity I bought orange cellophane and turned all my work colleagues' presents into parcels that more resembled bushfires than gifts. Never mind. Lesson learned... obviously Organica has to WRAP them for me next year too. She keeps a list of who I give to and what those people like. Yeah, I know it's not healthy. But she takes Mastercard so it's a guilty habit I have no intention of giving up.

Given that we like touching things, Melon and I did deem 'the markets' worth the Chrissy shopping risk. If you like dried flower arrangements, knitted pigs, glass figurines and wood carvings. And the lattes at the markets are just SO not OK. A lot of hand-made stuff is at the markets. Melon makes her presents because she has a valuable little personality trait called patience. Gorgeous tree shaped shortbread with those cool little silver balls on them, all in rows. Sigh...maybe in my next life.

Which leaves... the shopping malls. Especially for getting the presents for the kids. And you kind of HAVE to leave that to the last minute, because you just don't get 'the right gifts' otherwise. So, here I was today in that little piece of teenage girl heaven known as Supre. The BHG (Better Homes & Gardens girl) has had a thing for Supre for a few years now. I've tried doing the Christmas Supre thing a few different ways. I've tried the obvious... gift voucher. But then I had to go back there so I could 'help' spend the voucher (read: approve) the purchases so that she didn't come home with fifty bucks worth of fluoro yellow dresses and shirts that say 'you know you want me' (yes, I do get a bit funny about thirteen year olds wearing that stuff, I don't CARE if it's got a dolphin picture on it, it's STILL skanky!) We hit a new record last year with nearly 90 minutes in Supre. With DOOF DOOF music belting, bobble-headed shop assistants screeching on their mobile phones instead of getting us the next size up ("yeah, like... right.. and like i KNOW right!!!!"), I vowed not to do the Supre gift voucher 'thang' again.

So today I went in there... with trepidation... to purchase a pair of tie-dyed shorts ("the SHORT ones, not the OTHER ones. Otherwise my life is... like... OVA!!!!") and a matching tank top. BHG and the Glamazons are ALL wearing them. I managed to knock over a mannequin (an anorexic looking one with an oversized head, obviously lacking in strength and unable to stay upright for long periods), slosh some of my Boost Juice Slushie onto the tank top display (what am I... an octopus? The cup had to be put down whilst I searched for an XS top. As I said to the the bobble-head after the death-glare, if she'd been bothered to help me rather than touch up her mascara, or even sort the damn tops into piles by size, then the 'incident' wouldn't have occurred. I then had to show another bobblehead how to use the EFTPOS machine. I wish Supre had self-serve kiosks like Big W so I didn't have to talk to anyone during Christmas shopping. Needless to say, the shorts had better bloody well fit, because they ain't goin' back.

Unless I need to pop in tomorrow for something...