Well we finally ventured out to do some Christmas shopping as a couple last night (and yes I realize that Christmas is a week away). I really don’t like the crass commercialism and content-less mush that this holiday is in our culture, but it is nice to exchange presents. So off we went.
A few thoughts as I rummaged around some of the stores (and from being in the mall a couple of times a week as part of my current job):
* I can’t imagine the headache that a mall Santa must have at the end of the day. Malls are loud, noisy places with terrible acoustics (echoes, etc.) to begin with. Add to that a constant barrage of squirmy and sometimes crying, screaming kids and babies in your lap and you’ve got a great holiday advil commercial. (Seriously, that would be a good commercial – you can have the idea for a nominal fee.) Oh – and a camera flashing in your face every couple of minutes probably helps out too.
* The price of clothing often seems to have gotten higher than I recall, much higher in some cases. I cannot imagine what would make a pear of jeans cost $70. Seriously. I’d like to know.
* I saw one row of what appeared to me to be lingerie. Of course it turns out that they were blouses – a very low cut blouse with a thin veneer of satin, very thin straps, and lace around the, uh, edges. My wife says it’s supposed to be worn under a blazer or something. I hasten to point out that she said this with a mixture of incredulity and horror – she would never advertise herself like that. Of course I’ve seen this look and wondered about it. Why do young girls (our age and younger) feel the need to walk around the mall dressed like prostitutes? It’s frustrating to me that girls are taught that this is what they need to do in order to be attractive and get guys’ attention. Well, they’ll get the guys attention I suppose, but the guys they get will tend to be a certain kind of guy after a certain kind of thing. And of course the message this sends teen guys about girls is screwed up too.
Gosh I sound like some out-of-touch grandpa, don’t I?