How many times have you heard people say, "I hate going shopping with him/her?" There's a very common perception that people of opposite gender should never go shopping for clothes together. This is based on hundreds of years of men and women discovering, usually in the clothing department, that they have utterly different ideas about what constitutes shopping. Back in the olden days, Englebertia would talk Corndogius into going out to look for a stola or two, and it would end in tears, recriminations, and a lot of pointed remarks about certain centurions being color-blind.
Everyone believes that women shop and men buy. This is the same "everyone" we quote whenever we're trying to shore up a weak argument without having any actual facts to hand. Anyway, it is quite true that there are far more women who enjoy shopping than there are men who enjoy shopping. Men seem to prefer to dash in, pick up an article of clothing in their size, idly check the pricetag, and purchase the article. Women seem fonder of the whole shopping oeuvre: the being waited on, the comparison shopping, the sales racks to plunder.
Without going into the economic and sociological reasons for such a behavorial division, let's agree men and women are from different planets when it comes to shopping. You may then imagine my reluctance when I agreed to accompany my husband down to the mall last night to pick out a sportscoat for his upcoming job interview. I admit it, I was not pleased. Hanging about a menswear department is depressing, what with all those endless shades of discreet navy, grey, and brown. Callously, I summoned a sales clerk over to assist John, refusing to do more than indicate various degrees of approval while watching him make a few decisions on his own.
Poor John. He didn't quite know what he wanted. Maybe I should say poor sales clerk. They sorted through the somewhat enervated color selections, picking out and trying on various jackets, and occasionally turning to see my reaction to one of the items. I merely gave my best Sphinx smile and said to choose what he liked, it wouldn't be me wearing it. John, of course, was fooled into thinking I didn't have an opinion. The sales clerk knew better.
Eventually, by careful assessment of my face, John's increased exasperation at actually having to shop, and through some instinct known only to those who work retail, the sales clerk asked me what John did for a living. Upon learning he was a professor, the clerk pulled out a wonderfully vibrant sportscoat in tones of navy, sand, and olive. It didn't have leather patches on the elbows, but it practically screamed, "Liberal for a living!" by comparison to the stock exchange suits. My eyebrows lifted fractionally. John tried it on. The clerk smiled in peaceful certainty.
"All the ladies love a houndstooth check," he announced. I collapsed in giggles while John cast a doubting eye over the wildly hedonistic coat with its pert leather buttons and dashing checked pattern. "What do you think?" he said. "It's kind of bright." I controlled myself and said that I liked it very much. Because I did. It was very attractive, considering the alternatives. And it looked exactly like what a professor should wear. Buy it, I advised. The clerk nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yes, it is very nice on you. And the ladies will love it." I could see John weighing this thought carefully.
So he bought it. He's happy because he actually bought a serious piece of clothing. I'm happy because he bought the one coat I thought was worth buying. And down at the mall, the salesclerk is convincing some other pair of mismatched shoppers to buy the clothing the female half likes. The man knows his stuff. He's probably got a degree in planetary science.