So, now it is time for the next confession—I despise shopping. Having three daughters you would expect me to enjoy shopping, but the shopping gene apparently passed me by. Maybe growing up with brothers warped my priorities because shopping, for fun or by necessity, doesn't appeal to me. I have bribed friends to take my daughters shopping and have arranged a standing date with their godmother for her to handle prom and wedding dresses. Now, I can certainly shop 'til you drop if needed but ... it ranks alongside having blood drawn and dental procedures in my list of things I would rather be doing.

Not that I have a choice between the dentist and the mall now that all of my daughters have discovered the joys of shopping. Which inevitably means assembling a pack of like-minded girls to pick up and shadow in the mall. And so I sit, perched on the edge of a shopping display, escorting the teen pack tonight, typing away on my iPad while guarding the gates so they can't invade another shop without me.

I thought we had enough clothes and more than enough shoes to equip our family as well as three or four more, but apparently I was sadly mistaken. We are on a quest, not sure of the exact nature, but we must find it now. Apparently it will only be at the mall this week. I think the holiday money from grandparents is burning a hole in the pockets personally.  

I must be an unnatural mother. The moms I see tonight have the same look of rapture as their daughters while they browse the racks. Unlike me, I don't get the sense they begrudge whiling their free time away until the mall closes. My misfortune, I guess. At least I planned to arrive late enough to limit the time the mall would be open. My philosophy is arrive with less than two hours left until closing time, less if I can manage it; It keeps me reasonably pleasant and mostly sane. That and the Starbucks in my left hand. 

Back to tracking my shopping crew—I notice all the teens seem to travel in packs as well. The talk is of school, friends, boys, fashion advice and accessorizing. Parents are apparently invisible unless they speak and remove all doubt of their presence. The shopping pack I am escorting is easy to track, however. A path of destruction is left in their wake as the rejected offerings are tossed aside. Loud laughter punctuates the mall music whenever they find an outfit that strikes them as absurd. Mirror-crowding occurs if they find an outfit they think is too cute. Hands overflow as they trek to the dressing room where they discover they really didn't like or need any of that.

So, obviously, it isn't all about the shopping. Maybe shopping is a social sport. This would explain how two hours at the mall net one small purchase, if that. Perhaps it is a good thing that I don't like shopping. For when I shop, I power shop and knock out birthdays, holidays and Christmas too if I can. A trip to Nordstrom Rack can net me shoes for the next two years ... I think I will try not to cultivate my shopping gene. It could be dangerous. So, how about you?