So here goes ....................
This is definitely a post-marriage insight.
Till about one year before my marriage, I use to treat shopping like men usually do. Just another chore to be performed akin to washing your undies and shaving on the weekdays.
And the underlying algorithm for it used to go something like this ....
1. Your jeans are falling apart and your boss does not think of it as a fashion statement ... you go to Shopper's Stop.
2. Your tummy rumbles after waking up in the morning ... you go and buy breads (in case you are feeling particularly perky, check for molds and all) and jam.
3. The sole of your right shoe came off while running after the 8:08 local .... time to go to Bata.
4. Your fellow passengers are wrinkling their noses ... time to purchase that bottle of Axe.
etc. etc. .... you get the point.
In case, you would have told me shopping is actually 15% expedition into the unknown, 30% exploration into your sub-conscious, 25% decision tree analysis involving Black-Scholes model and 30% orgasmic bliss, I would have thought you are Zaphod Beeblebrox, himself.
But then again, I had not met my wife. There's still this remote possibility that she is actually Zaphod masquerading as a sex-symbol, but lets not venture there, shall we?
After marriage, I was first curious as to why perfectly grown up women (without any traumatised childhood, as far as I know) behave like such raving lunatics when confronted with a shop.
Then interested ... then flabbergasted .... then scared ... and then trapped.
In case you have still not understood what the hell I am talking about, you must be in one of those Engineering students fantasizing over your Director's 50 year old secy. I am so glad for you, as you are safe for some more years, till your parents finally decide that those persistent yellow stains on the bed-sheet are actually quite inconvenient and find you your soulmate. For your convenience, let me outline the situations with some examples (Timoshenko & Young, capisce?).
Have you noticed the glazed look on the faces of someone when she is making a final choice from about 235 assorted items scattered in front of her? Regular junkies, man ... worse than heroin addicts.
Have you ever witnessed the amusing spectacle of someone walking out of the shop in a huff, after rummaging through half the shop's contents, because the design she liked is available in the colour which does not suit her mood at that particular moment? And the shopkeeper muttering under his breath, "I would break a coconut, in case she actually purchases something."
What about not buying a wallet for a 5/- price difference and then going to the next shop and purchasing a perfume worth 5000/-. And replying to some protests from partner with the philosphical "In case you would understand that, you would have been me, no?"
And what about that thing of asking their partner "Well, what do you think?" when the one you will point out to would definitely not be purchased. Or rather, asking even more poignantly as well as pointedly, "But you like this other one, don't you?" as if she would buy it just for that reason.
And its not easy to escape the dilemma just by saying "You do whatever you want, O Goddess. Why take advice from such low-lifes as me?" because then you will surely hear this absoute stunner, "What is the point of you coming along, in case you are not going to choose anything?". Huh? .... As if I had a choice to begin with.
And what about .... ahhhh forget it ... there she comes with that expression on her face ... the one that means we are going shop-hopping again tonight. There goes my Argentina-Germany match.