Shopping with daughters
People often sigh wistfully that shopping with my daughters must be so fun. Girlie shopping they say, how lovely that must be. These people invariably do not have any daughters, have daughters that are under the age of being able to talk back or have daughters that have grown up and these parents must have the onset of dementia and don’t remember just how excrutiating shopping with girls actually is.
And it isn’t just me. My friend has a twelve year old daughter and she spent five hours shopping with her last week-end for a disco dress. After five hours of trudging around shop after shop her daughter decided that the very first shop they had gone to actually had the dress she wanted.
I have just spend three hours in La Canada trying to find shoes or a pair of trainers for my eight year old. We tried every single shop that had a shoe size of 34. I was so tired by the end of it, price tags became meaningless and I let her look at Guess trainers, Converses, anything so long as it fitted. She did find a pair of lilac converses that she liked at a price tag of 55 euros. They fit she told me. Yes they fitted. They fitted her foot inside and they would also have had room for an elephant’s foot if it cared for a pair of lilac converses. I told her that she could have them on provision that when she joined the circus she would let me tweak her red nose.
We have come home for lunch and I know I’m stressed as I’ve eaten so much chocolate that I now have ulcers. They can go with the blisters on my feet. We are about to head out to Puerto Banus to see what we can find in El Corte Ingles.
If you see a woman on her knees sobbing or a woman negotiating on her mobile for the sale of one of her kidneys to pay for a pair of designer trainers that actually fit her daughter…..then that will be me.
Shopping with daughters? I’d rather shop with a bad tempered crocodile.
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