Football & shopping
Somewhere someone decided what boys like and what girls like.
I’d like that ‘someone somewhere’ to meet all the boys and girls who don’t like the things we should. We are grossly disadvantaged in the manoeuvring of the complicated social threads that we all try to seamlessly bridge in making friends and influencing people.
What is a boy to do if he doesn’t like football? Are you forever exempt from the regular celebration of drinking, burping and growling your way through ninety minutes of action with your fellow beasts?
This penultimate exercise in male bonding is a unique moment in time where the jobs you have, the cars you drive, the girls you shag are left to the sideline and nothing else matters. It’s where mates are made.
So poor, poor non-football-loving male is out of the game so to speak. It is so unfair.
This matter is close to my non-conforming heart – for you see, I am a girl, and shock horror, I don’t really like shopping!
It’s what girls do right? And supposedly they do it really well. Some of my friends not only indulge the concept of retail therapy they have turned it into a fine art where the credit card is more toned than their power-plated thighs.
Evil fluorescent lighting, row after row of bad taste and unhygienic dressing rooms with complimentary bundles of fluff and hair hovering in the corners from the previous tenants just leave me curdling with disgust and contempt for those girls that regularly partake in this pastime.
Why would I like it?
It’s a constant dressing, undressing, zipping, unzipping, buttoning, unbuttoning squeezing and contorting into this season’s trends to find the generic outfit that fits – only to discover it will be what everyone else will wear just like you tomorrow.
Baahhhhh. I just don’t see why you would do it unless you really had to. And this is where I become two steps behind when it comes to female bonding.
My girly friends would scream louder than the announcement of a Marc Jacobs 70% sale, if I told them I magically liked shopping. It would bring a new dimension to our friendship. We would spend hours dipping into our favourite shops, bags on hands like prized camels tripping along the Sahara. We’d gush in delicious delight and momentously toast our friendship with bubbles and giggles at the champagne bar.
Would the bubbles be enough? If I was drowning in it, then maybe… maybe it could make me forget evil lighting, dirty dressing rooms and the pain of seeing myself in three mirrors simultaneously.
Thank god that someone somewhere who wrote the book on what girls like, what boys like decided we all like the pub. Because that’s where I am heading after thirty minutes of retail hell. Sorry boys you have another sixty minutes to go.
I’d like that ‘someone somewhere’ to meet all the boys and girls who don’t like the things we should. We are grossly disadvantaged in the manoeuvring of the complicated social threads that we all try to seamlessly bridge in making friends and influencing people.
What is a boy to do if he doesn’t like football? Are you forever exempt from the regular celebration of drinking, burping and growling your way through ninety minutes of action with your fellow beasts?
This penultimate exercise in male bonding is a unique moment in time where the jobs you have, the cars you drive, the girls you shag are left to the sideline and nothing else matters. It’s where mates are made.
So poor, poor non-football-loving male is out of the game so to speak. It is so unfair.
This matter is close to my non-conforming heart – for you see, I am a girl, and shock horror, I don’t really like shopping!
It’s what girls do right? And supposedly they do it really well. Some of my friends not only indulge the concept of retail therapy they have turned it into a fine art where the credit card is more toned than their power-plated thighs.
Evil fluorescent lighting, row after row of bad taste and unhygienic dressing rooms with complimentary bundles of fluff and hair hovering in the corners from the previous tenants just leave me curdling with disgust and contempt for those girls that regularly partake in this pastime.
Why would I like it?
It’s a constant dressing, undressing, zipping, unzipping, buttoning, unbuttoning squeezing and contorting into this season’s trends to find the generic outfit that fits – only to discover it will be what everyone else will wear just like you tomorrow.
Baahhhhh. I just don’t see why you would do it unless you really had to. And this is where I become two steps behind when it comes to female bonding.
My girly friends would scream louder than the announcement of a Marc Jacobs 70% sale, if I told them I magically liked shopping. It would bring a new dimension to our friendship. We would spend hours dipping into our favourite shops, bags on hands like prized camels tripping along the Sahara. We’d gush in delicious delight and momentously toast our friendship with bubbles and giggles at the champagne bar.
Would the bubbles be enough? If I was drowning in it, then maybe… maybe it could make me forget evil lighting, dirty dressing rooms and the pain of seeing myself in three mirrors simultaneously.
Thank god that someone somewhere who wrote the book on what girls like, what boys like decided we all like the pub. Because that’s where I am heading after thirty minutes of retail hell. Sorry boys you have another sixty minutes to go.
posted by Zap at
9:16 pm
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