Man Vs. Mall

I’m a red-blooded American man, well equipped to take on most of life’s challenges. I can live off the land if necessary, negotiate at the business table and lead the team to victory.

But put me in a mall, and I am reduced to just another dopey guy, caught in the glare of a million lights, every one of them reminding me that time is running out. I long for any other season except this one, full of “one-day sales,” “early-bird specials” and “savings events.”

Like a hunter, I scan the shopping arena, hoping for the quick score so I can go home. After an excruciating ten minutes or so, desperation sets in. At this point, I become despondent, yet wary and suspicious.

Over the years I’ve learned that anything with a size on it is a trap — buy a sweater too large, and it’s an insult; too small, and it’s a humiliation. While she might be handy in the kitchen, purchasing a cookbook might send a wrong signal. And I’ve learned to avoid anything with “fitness” in the title.

Jewelry stores are especially confusing, as I am easily dazzled by the sparkle of cubic zirconium and 15 percent off.

Most of the time, we men get in trouble because we buy something that we think she needs. Our inclination is to be practical instead of sentimental, and what’s more practical than a tool or gadget? Or cash can always come in handy, right? How about new car mats?