Shop!
-Fred Stock

          Watching the pre-Christmas deluge of TV ads one evening when I noted a Macy’s commercial with the phrase, “Macys. Way to Shop!”  That hit me harder than most commercials – that is, we had failed to mute it so I heard it!  It occurred to me that there is a vast gulf between the shores of understanding of the term “shop” through the eyes of a woman and those of a man.

            See, to a woman shopping is an activity. It’s more than that. It’s a contest, some kind of perverse sport naturally engaged in by those born to the softer gender. A man is asked, “What did you do yesterday?” Oh, I ran to the store a got a couple of things, then I hit the links. That fairly accounts for an afternoon respectably spent. A woman can cover the same period in two words… “I shopped!”  Ladies accompanying their husbands to a conference at a local hotel are given the options, 1) Lounge by the pool  2) take a jeep adventure  3) go hot air ballooning 4) go on an El Paseo shopping tour.  Guess what wins every time!

            See, even the word has different interpretations when crossing the gender barrier. To a man, “shop” is a place he goes most days, to try to earn the money he needs to take home to give to his woman who will then “shop”. That’s not to put down the women… after all, they have a genetic propensity for such things. It’s in the DNA. To a man, “shop” is what we do when we decide, “I need a new pair of work shoes.” We get into the car, drive to the closest village and locate the first shoe store. We look at the displays, take down one pair of boots and try on one of them, buy the pair and drive home. End of story.

            His mate, on the other hand anticipates the event for three months, saves and plans, cuts coupons, schedules friends and daughters-in-law, camps on the concrete outside the largest department store in five states at 3:00 AM on the morning of Friday after Thanksgiving to be the first in line at 5:30 AM for the big sale. Or she might drive 30 minutes and then go into every isle of every shoe store in the entire Desert Hills Factory Outlet complex, trying on at least five different shoes in each shop. Then after complete exhaustion sets in, and her husband is face down in his glazed cheese cruller and Starbucks latte, she returns to the first shop she had set foot in, tries on that first pair of shoes she had on 4-1/2 hours ago, then decides she can’t make up her mind, and leaves without buying anything. Meanwhile there’s a frustrated sales clerk re-boxing a stack of shoes in each “shop” in the complex.

            See, “shop” to a man is a place of peace and creativity. Power tools and sawdust and intriguing glues and cabinets full of little jars of shiny bolts and 18 sizes of nails. There are racks of screwdrivers and an awl. A woman can’t possibly appreciate a good awl. They just don’t have the mitochondria for it. “Shop” to a man is what we do on Saturday morning when we are clicking through nine different channels of college football games with the remote in one hand, beer and pretzels in the other. “Shop” to a woman is staring with glazed over eye at the Home Shopping Channel while some has-been (or never-quite-was) movie actress oozes over a really ugly necklace for fifteen minutes.

            If you doubt these ideas, ask the first couple you encounter to make a list of their favorite activities. The woman’s list will include “shopping” in the first five items. Why in the world do you think there’s a Victoria Secret chain? Women love to hunt through the isles for underwear!  Give them a table filled with disorganized piles of bikini briefs through which they can madly dig, and they’re in Nirvana. Ever hear two men excitedly telling each other about their afternoon buying themselves underwear? I think not!  Fhs