I love to shop. I am a world-class shopper. If there were an Olympic event for shopping, I would be like the Michael Phelps of the mall. I can sprint shop, endurance shop, and marathon shop. In the shopping decathlon, I reign supreme.
I actually come from a long line of great shoppers on both sides of my family, going back nearly to the first strip mall at Plymouth Rock. It’s a tradition that has been passed down in my family from generation to generation. Some families share recipes. We share coupons.
When my daughter was born, I dreamed that one day the two of us would shop together. I assumed since she was a child of mine, she would also have my passion for fashion. It never occurred to me that she might get her father’s genes for shopping. He hates to shop. Loathes to shop. Will not set foot in a shop unless it’s an electronics store or a car dealership. I think it’s a guy thing. Apparently that “Y” on the male XY chromosome stands for “Y the heck do I have to go shopping…”