One of the few traits I seem to have inherited from my late and much-lamented father is a decided lack of patience when it comes to shopping. Now, send me into a store to rummage through books, office supplies, electronics or tools, and I could be content, if not outright gleeful, for hours on end; indeed, I could easily get lost for days in large bookstores, sifting through the titles while I forget to eat or drink. But send me forth into the teeming hordes of a department store or mall, especially on a quest for some ill-labelled and confusing feminine product, and I’ll soon be quivering in paroxysms of frustration, anger, loathing for fellow humans, and even the fear of God.
And so it was with no lack of trepidation that I sallied forth recently into the seething swarms of bargain-hungry shoppers all brought to the brink of outright violence in their efforts to exchange well-meaning Christmas presents for the last dregs upon the shelves, and I in search of a seemingly rare skin lotion for my pregnant wife.
