I hate shopping. As a woman, it is one of the many MANY manufacturing defects the Good Lord blessed me with. It is, in fact, one I am secretly quite proud of.
So the irony of my credit card bill high-jumping bang in the middle of unemployment is all but lost on me. But between the interior decorating with the folks and packing for a strictly defined menu of footwear, wardrobe, and documentary evidences for the Government of India, this is what happens.
I have spent a lifetime ducking behind covers and pretend-sleeping just to avoid being called upon for a visit to the dreaded dark dungeons of consumerism. I have bonded with salesmen over our mutual eye-rolling at my lady compatriots’ incessant dress trials.
“Women!”
True story.
I could have sworn I would never live to see the day when I would be dragging others from malls to dingy Old Delhi markets and back.
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| This is probably why they say you shouldn’t tempt fate. |
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