At the top of the list of things that I most don’t like to do, shopping has a hallowed spot. Granted, there are a couple of things that I would hate to do more, but my editors would have six strokes if I entered into dialogues about any of them here. Being respectful of their wishes, and also respectful of the fact that writing a column that no one would print is rather pointless, I’ll move forward and get right to the point. I was forced into a shopping experience for a computer part today, and while doing that l learned a tad more about women, which is always a good thing.

First off, about my computer - a few days ago I spilled something I shouldn’t have on my keyboard, which necessitated the purchase of another one. After I got all of the cussing out of my system, I grimly realized that I was going to have to enter that one true hell for all men, a shopping mall. Honest to God, I’m cringing just writing down those two words. Shopping malls are the bane of all genuine men, and for good reason:

1. Concrete floors covered with just carpet on top of them are not designed for the male knee, especially the middle aged male knee which has already been weakened by football, baseball, and untold years of household chores like working on plumbing problems underneath the sink. If malls were designed for men, they would Astro Turf the floors, but they’re not, so no need to waste any more time wishing for it.

2. As if “1” wasn’t bad enough, ninety-five percent of the stores in most malls cater to women, in fact, they sell uniquely female items - make-up, feminine hygiene related products, and last, but certainly not least, lingerie. We’ll talk more about lingerie in a minute.

With all that having been said, I went to a shopping mall today looking for a replacement keyboard. As I walked and grimaced my way along the rows of stores, I quickly found a computer joint, went in, and bought my keyboard. I had only spent about twenty total minutes inside the mall, so I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself for being so efficient. And then, it happened....

Guys, let me tell you, they had stuff in there that would make just about any fantasy you’ve ever had about a woman come true. I was goin’ around gawking like a two year old who’d just discovered chocolate, when this lady came up and asked me if I needed help? I figured that I can always use help, so we started talkin’ - our conversation went something like this:

“Mam, I’m sorry to be taking up your time, but this just beats all I’ve ever seen.”

“What can I help you with, sir?”

“I will never understand this, mam.”

“Understand what, sir?”

“Mam, my brain is just going crazy looking around at all this stuff. It’s like a Six Flags Adventure Park for a red blooded male. Does this stuff sell well, mam?”

“Sir, we have a healthy business situation.”

“As well you should, mam. I’ll just never figure this out.”

“Figure out what, sir?”

“Well, with lingerie, it seems like the more you get to see of the woman the more it costs. Take these little lace and postage stamp sized bottoms right here, they cover nothing, yet they cost $125. Worse yet, if you buy them, the whole goal is to get them off the woman as soon as is humanly possible. The whole deal makes no sense at all.”

“Sir, we could talk forever about this, but there are other customers that I need to help. So let me leave you with this to ponder - if buying lingerie for your special lady ultimately gets you what you want, why do you care if it makes sense to you or not?”

With that, she walked away.

Know something? She’s one hundred percent right. Know something else? She wasn’t half bad looking herself, and I’m fighting to not think about how she would’ve looked in that tiger striped ensemble with the gold sequins all over it....

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