All week I’ve been talking a little smack about how I hate Black Friday.
I’m not even sure hate is a strong enough word.
I’m philosophically opposed to the concept of Black Friday. Retailers manipulating consumers into behaving in a manner outside of their typical patterns. Spending ridiculous amounts of time in lines, waking obscenely early to greet the door openers, spending hard-earned money on things they don’t need because they’re on sale.
The hype has exceeded the substance of the event. It used to be about saving a few bucks. Now it’s about bragging rights to a bargain.
So I swore I wouldn’t be leaving my house today, except for a quick trip to the grocery store or bakery. You know, for essentials.
I jested that the only thing that could get me to brave the crowds on Black Friday was a 50% off sale at the wine store. I would stock up on my personal favs, and get a few pretentious bottles of French red for gifts.
Then something unexpected happened.
Mr. Wonderful tells me he’d like to go to the mall. Just to one store, because they were advertising some really good sales on men’s clothes. Work stuff, you know. Practical stuff. Stuff he really needs.
And he asked me if I would go with him.
I really didn’t want to. I didn’t want to deal with the crowds. The impatient folks who’d been at it since 5 AM, fighting for the last DVD player or pair of Uggs. Grouchy people, being waited on by grouchy employees. Oy.
So what do I do? I put on my shoes, got my purse, and went shopping.
I now stand corrected. There is one thing that could make me go shopping on Black Friday.
And he’s sitting next to me on the couch right now. Only for you, dear. Only for you.