If you asked any guy in America, they would say that baseball or football is America’s pastime. Nothing is more enjoyable than cracking open a few beers with friends on a Sunday as you watch your team march to victory. The best part of it all is when you have your amazing girlfriend right there by your side. Not only does she wear your team’s jersey with pride, but she puts up with all your friend’s antics as they spill drinks on the new coffee table and get crumbs on the ground. And when you’re passed out on the couch after all the excitement, she’s the one who cleans up that night. She might not know all the rules of the game or where your favorite player went to college, but she loves you and loves making you happy. However, all of this fun and enjoyment doesn’t come free even for the most caring boyfriend. Since she put up with your favorite sport, it’s now time for you to indulge in her favorite pastime: shopping.
The most devoted fan, raging with testosterone can’t compete with a woman getting ready to scope out each store’s new seasonal line of clothing. Right when they take that first step into the mall, a gun shot rings out and they are off on a marathon. Unlike sporting games where the fans are distracted by talking to friends, eating, and drinking; women are focused for every second of this shopping event. They speed walk past on-coming obstacles of people walking slow as they eagle out each store window. While most people have their favorite team, women don’t have a single team they cheer for. They like every store and show their appreciation by going in and looking at every piece of clothing they have. And just like every good team, a woman needs a good supporting cast to help her make the big decision of which outfit to buy. This is where girlfriends come into play. They form a huddle even more intense than a football team down by one point with ten seconds left in the game. They pick apart each detail of the clothing until they are more than a hundred percent sure it is the right fit. And you better hope you don’t get in-between a group of girls shopping over shoes, because they will humiliate you more than a group of angry, drunk fans after their team lost. But what if a girl can’t get in touch with her friends for shopping. This is when she calls in her ringer: the boyfriend.
If you thought a drill sergeant was bad, you have never met a girlfriend shopping with her significant other. She will hustle you around to each store as she shouts out orders. From hurrying up to stop dragging your feet, you will be pushed to your limits. Most men don’t survive the marathon of hauling around bags of clothes for hours or the dreaded sitting on the chair in the waiting room, which has broken down the strongest of soldiers in the past. You will be demanded to critique every outfit as if you work for Vogue and know the latest trends. Halfway through all this, you will be on your last breaking point. Barely able to keep your eyes open from exhaustion, you will suck it all up because you may never hear the end of this if you don’t. Finally, the marathon is over and you let out a sigh of relief. But what about when the tables are turned, and the guy wants to buy something for himself.
This has happened to me plenty of times. I wake up with that confident feeling that I am going to head to the mall and finally buy some well-needed clothes. I call up my friends, but they are either all busy or don’t have any money to spend there. My girlfriend is busy, so this means I need to venture to the mall by myself. It will be simple and easy. I walk into my favorite store and just pick out a couple t-shirts and jeans. I mean it couldn’t be that hard if my girlfriend does it so easily. I park my car and walk through the giant, sliding doors glowing with confidence and excitement.
As I get to the main hallway, I am quickly engulfed in a crowd of parents pushing around strollers of screaming babies, teenagers howling like banshees, and kiosk workers almost tackling you to get your attention. I am a little overwhelmed so I begin to almost sprint to my favorite store. I head in there and feel a sense of relief. I begin to sift through all the shirts, but I notice there is nothing really that catches my eye. I hastily grab a couple t-shirts as I proceed to the jean section. I am confused by all the different types of pants. Most of the styles seem like they are made for people with legs as skinny as spaghetti noodles. I can barely find my size until I pull outthree stacks of jeans and find it all the way in the back. Now I rush over to the changing rooms only to find myself waiting in a line. The wait seems like hours as I become more anxious. It seems like everyone is staring at me and judging the options I have chosen. Right before I am about to give up, the employee brings me to my room. Optimistically, I try on the clothes and none of them look good. The t-shirts don’t fit right to my body, and the jeans that are my size feel like they are putting a death grip on my legs. I put my original clothes back on and dread this walk of shame out of the changing room. As I hand the employee back the failed outfits saying none of them fit, she gives me the worst look ever. It is almost as bad as when a parent doesn’t say they are mad at you, but rather disappointed. I walk through the store and see all the happy people check out and find the perfect clothes. I couldn’t understand what had went wrong for me.
As I get back to my car, I rest my head on the seat and stare at my ceiling. I feel that sense of failure washing over my body. After that ordeal of shopping, it made me wish I was there with my girlfriend. She would have helped me pick out the right clothes with her eye to detail and attention. As she stands right next to the changing room door, she would tell me what looks good and what doesn’t. Even if we couldn’t find something in one store, she would lift my spirits until we find that perfect outfit somewhere else. It really makes me appreciate everything she does for me, and makes me respect how she can handle all the obstacles and dramas of shopping. It doesn’t bother me if she drags me around to every store in the mall for four hours, and it doesn’t bother her to sit through a whole football game. This is what love is.