Yes, I said it. I hate shopping. So much so that the very thought of braving the mall makes me want to form a duck-down chrysalis with my duvet, crawl in and never come out. (If you listen very carefully you can hear my cousins gasping in horror from aisle 236 of the Walmart Superstore.)I’m going to be a bit stereotypical here and say that when it comes to shopping, I’m not your average girl. I’m a get in and get out quick kind of gal. No browsing, no dawdling, no oohing and ahhing. I derive no pleasure from the act itself and, in fact, I can only think of a couple things I enjoy less. Having my bikini area waxed or a double root canal perhaps trumps my dislike for shopping, but not by much.

Unfortunately, as the mom, and primary ‘getter of things’ for the household, shopping is a part of the job. It’s 9:30 p.m. and the teenager needs Bristol board for a science project that is due tomorrow? Mom will get it. Soda’s on sale for half price at the local ‘Stop N Shop’ and a year’s supply sounds like a good idea? Mom will get it. Ninety-nine percent of the time it all falls on Mom’s shoulders.

Grocery shopping, gotta do it, right? (I believe there’s some sort of children’s services rule against not feeding them, but whatever.) There is nothing appealing about the prospect of maneuvering an uncooperative cart through aisles and aisles of fellow ornery shoppers, waiting to pay in a line-up so long I have time to contemplate the meaning of life to eventually be faced with the stressful task of bagging my own groceries as a less than enthused cashier throws me a look that says ‘would ya hurry it up already?’. Okay, so not exactly the best example to demonstrate how much I hate shopping as I really can’t envision anyone in their right mind finding the grocery store an ideal place to practice some retail therapy.

Let’s move on to clothes shopping. If you’re a woman who has a hang-up about any sort of bodily flaw, real or imagined, you know where I’m going with this one. Why would I willingly choose to subject myself to repeated disappointment in front of an unforgiving three-way mirror that’s all too eager to highlight the results of this past holiday season’s overindulgences? Enough said, next.

Furniture and/or electronics shopping. Now, I enjoy being stalked as much as the next person, but come on, when I’m looking for bloody dinette set? I understand everyone’s gotta earn a living but those commissioned salespeople are ruthless. If you pay close attention when you enter the store you can see them covertly jockeying for position, like tigers waiting to take down an unsuspecting gazelle on the African plains. (I’m feeling slightly paranoid right now just thinking about it.) If you’ve ever spent any time at all with a salesperson and then told him you had to “think about it” you’ll recognize the Jekyll & Hyde shift that occurs. I could be flailing around on the floor in front of him choking on a cherry jujube and unless I agree to buy that plasma screen T.V. he spent the last hour trying to convince me I needed I can forget about the Heimlich maneuver. I don’t like to be pressured into anything, especially not purchasing a big-ticket item simply because I feel obligated.

‘A day at the mall’ shopping. I’ve never understood this concept and by questioning it’s very existence I know I’m taking my life into my own hands. (Remember my cousins? They’ve moved to the Sears outlet store but they can still hear me.) The ceramic tiles of the shopping center are hallowed ground to many girlfriends/sisters/mothers-daughters. Cable TV dramedies and chick lit books have fed us ludicrous fantasies of happy, smiling women walking side-by-side through the mall, each toting a plethora of designer shopping bags, whilst their Jimmy Choo’s click in unison and their long flaxen hair blows in the mysterious wind – rubbish. All fabricated to make you believe that you too can be a vision of shopping perfection. I’m so close to exposing a conspiracy theory I can taste it. I’ve never spent a day at the mall that didn’t involve a 1.3 mile walk from the overflow parking, the formation of countless blisters on my heels, a pizza sauce stain down the front on my shirt and a sore neck from schlepping my twenty pound purse around. Not so glamorous, eh?

I do, however, praise the retail gods for the advent of two things. Firstly, there is the gift card. What could make shopping for someone else easier than these little wonders of merchandising genius? No more guessing if you’ve bought the right size or if your gift is going to be appreciated instead of ending up in the yard sale pile. Secondly, but equally important, is online shopping. Shopping while sitting in front of my computer wearing a bathrobe, eating a bowl of ice cream and watching Seinfeld re-runs on television – need I say more? Those two things have single-handedly improved my quality of life tenfold.

I guess shopping is one of those necessary evils that if I had the choice I’d avoid it like the plague. But alas, as the mom, choice is a rarely utilized luxury.

Shopping = Stress = No thanks, I’m good.