Growing up, I had mostly guy friends. It makes perfect sense if you think about it. I established my closest friendships throughout High School and Uni, where I was studying Computer Sciences, a subject which, at least back home and way back when, rarely appealed to girls. Then I went on to work in IT, where to this day, the vast majority of my fellow geeks are male. I was always, at times despite my very vehement protesting, one of the guys.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great. I mean, what girl wouldn’t give an arm and a leg to be me, if only for a couple of hours on a Friday night: I’m never nervous around guys (or their mothers!), I could probably talk the-fast-and-the-furious-football-barbequeuing-techniques for longer than half a minute at a time, and I’d easily win half a dozen tie knotting challenges before breakfast.
But then there are things I’d much rather do with my girls than my pack of guy friends, and one of these problematic activities is, wait for it…, shopping!
It was much easier back home. I grew up with a sister and had lovely female flatmates throughout my Uni years, so shopping sessions were intoxicating, reckless weekly affairs which dug bottomless holes into my budget, overcrowded my already packed dressers, and are still among my dearest, funnest recollections from those years. Yup, bring on the oh-you’re-so-shallow-you’ve got-a-see-through-reflection comments.
Fast forward a little to present time, and none of my female friends here are shopping buddy material. I’m not going to get into the million-billion reasons they manage to come up with against my spending spree proposals. But the outcome of it all is that now, freshly slimmed down after my leafy diet, you’ll soon enough find me hitting the malls for the perfect pair of jeans, and you know what? I’ll be bugging random shop assistants and perfect, defenseless strangers with the all important does-my-bum-look-fat-in-this question. But hey, what does this growing up business mean if not discovering more and more ways in which to embarrass yourself in public?
Do any of you London based shopaholics feel like trying some jeans on and calling me fat?