Shopping could be a danger to your health
I have always been a tomboy. My earliest memories are filled with frogs, being covered in mud, and climbing up trees—much like that of a boy. I remember once shopping for tennis shoes with my dad and settling on Hercules shoes instead of whatever the female’s character name was, because they were “more comfy,” I told him. I lied; I just didn’t want to wear pink Velcro shoes that display a girl wearing a dress. It’s no surprise I don’t do a ton of girly things now. If you know me, you know I HATE to shop. I dread walking through the stores, looking at clothes, and worst of all spending money. I am a cheap SOB.
My mom was bound to release the girly girl that was trapped inside of her daughter someday. In high school, there are certain rites of passage that you have to do, even if that means taking one for the team. Prom is one of them. My junior year of high school, I headed to the Mall of America with my mom and best friend unknowingly in search of our dresses. Now, MOA is a horrible place; I am not just saying that because I hate everything that malls are—that is only part of it. MOA is just too much; it’s touristy, it’s overstimulation, and there is a lot of walking aimlessly around and window-shopping. No, thank you. However, the largest mall in the United States has something super awesome that I can’t ignore: rides. There is an amusement park inside of this hell. My mom told me that we were just going to go on the rides, which I couldn’t resist. While we drove down 494 South, I talked and talked about all the rides I was going to go on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom and my best friend intentionally avoiding my eye contact.
“And then the Log Shoot! I love to the log shoo—Wait a minute, what’s going on? We are going to the Mall to go on rides, aren’t we?”
“Well, yeah. After we do some shopping, first.” My mom said.
“Urghhhh, whhhhhhatttt?!” I said completely deflated.
I had been tricked—the wool pulled over my eyes—into shopping for my prom dress. I realize this makes me sound a little spoiled, but that’s not my intention. I would have worn a duct tape dress to prom if it meant I didn’t have to go shopping.
I need to be efficient. I think that is the underlying cause of my hatred of shopping— all this slowly walking around, trying things on, matching with other accessories—Argggghhh! Even typing it gets me antsy. Therefore, when I was dragged into a store, I grabbed the first dress I could find that didn’t blind me with sequins, or fake diamonds, and tried it on.
“Yep, it fits. I’ll meet you at the screaming eagle,” I said to my entourage before it was even zipped up all the way.
“You don’t even want to look at the others?” They both asked.
“Umm, no. Why? This one works, so we can go and do other stuff,” I said unfoundedly.
That was not the answer either one of them was looking for. There I was, after an hour and a half of being trapped in MOA so far from the rides that I couldn’t even hear the nervous screams of excitement. I did the only thing that a 17-year-old would: lay on the ground of the department store. Yep, I staged a sit-in of shopping. Needless to say, my behavior was not rewarded. No rides for you, bratty girl.