I’m A Shopper

Eleanor McGee (Mom) and I thinking about how to do some retail therapy

I’m a shopper. That’s one of the things I love about myself. We love what we’re good at and I’m good with a capitol G. Even the remotest possibility of going shopping fuels me like no other and if there’s a sale you better lead, follow or get out of the way.

The passion and genetic evidence for shopping comes from my mother’s side. I was just a wee lass in a stroller when my tutelage began. If it were offered as a class, I’d be in the accelerated one and would have aced it with my eyes closed. Not bragging ~ just saying.

Nan, my ever loving ~ Irish ~ grandmother took me to every brick and mortar store in the Chicagoland area when I was growing up. Nan lived in River Forest, a western suburb of Chicago and Moppets and Marshal Field’s, both in Oak Park which was the next town over, were the two stores we frequented most.

Moppets was a small, popular children’s clothing and toy store in the 60’s and 70’s and down the street was Peterson’s Ice Cream so that worked.

Shopping at Marshal Field’s, the beloved department store in the Chicagoland area and surrounding suburbs, was kind of a win because we never left without a pastry box filled with petit fours (bitesize layer cakes with poured fondant icing) and bismarks (jelly-filled and sugar coated pastries).

But shopping at Marshal Field’s came with a price; it meant you weren’t leaving there any time soon. Nan loved to browse, meander, then circle back in what felt like every department they had. She could never resist touching every garment she passed before we headed to the next department ~ and what’s worse than that when you’re a kid?

On top of it, my beautiful redheaded Nan never tired, I was the old person always looking for a place to park her fanny. I adored my grandmother ~ so I kept all of my ~ whiny, ants in the pants, I can’t take another step, I’m going to die so pleeeeeze can we just go now, feelings to myself.

My mother’s style of shopping was quite different. Ellie had a magnificent sense of artistry in everything she did and shopping was no exception. (Actually my grandmother did too, she just took longer.) My stunningly beautiful ~ not exaggerating ~ mother whom I also adored, had razor sharp focus, never dilly dallied and much to my chagrin was another one that never tired.

She was in a league of her own and I miss them both terribly.

As if my genetic predisposition to shopping wasn’t enough, God saw fit to have me marry a developer who specialized in retail development. How’s that for irony?

I bring up shopping because that’s often where I come face ~ to ~ face with my struggles. I never think of myself as having limitations. Slow, yes. Limitations,no. Clothes shopping, grocery shopping, any kind of in person shopping meets me with a hefty dose of reality and why this catches me off guard, I can’t say. Maybe because in my head I’m still the old me. The old me that I was used to ~ for 49 years. That me.

I may not see myself as a handicapper but I sure do look the part as dressing rooms love to remind me.

When shopping for clothes, it’s always exciting heading to the dressing room knowing everything that caught my fancy will look so smart and snazzy once I get it on. (That’s the sunny side of me I can’t seem to shake.) After much pulling, wiggling, tugging, wrestling and yanking to get my clothes off, I start the whole process over again trying to get the new clothes on.

Then I stand up only to sit right back down again. The person looking back at me in the dressing room mirror is not exactly what I expected. She rarely is. She’s bent forward and leans to the right like the S.S. Minnow taking in water.

Does this ever happen to you? Do you ever think you’re going to see the old you just because you’re trying on something pretty and new?

Meanwhile, sales ladies are forever asking me if I need any help just because it takes me an hour and a half to try on 2 sweaters and a scarf. Rude. When I do finally emerge I look like I’ve gone twelve rounds with a 300lb alligator in a phone booth and I politely hand back the items because they just weren’t doing it for me.

I’m ok with going to 30 more stores till I find what I came for. It’s ~ the thrill of the hunt ~ my friends.

As my hands became weaker, my clothing options became fewer. Early on it was obvious elastic waistbands and loose tops would be my new besties. Turtlenecks, buttons and pant zippers were stealing my joy so they were sent packing almost immediately.

Aside from being one of my happy places, shopping is still something I can put my stamp on. My métier, my long suit, is the ability to find the perfect ~ they’re going to die when they see this ~ kinds of gifts  I’m the 6 year old at the party yelling “Open mine first! Open mine first!”

There’s lots of letting go when it comes to shopping with challenges, but you will not hear me complaining. No ma’am ~ I’m a shopper with a capital G ~ remember?!