Wimmin'!!

Fact 1: I am surrounded by girls.

Fact 2: They are a nightmare.

Fact 3: I had to take two of them shopping yesterday.

Let me tell you about it:

I have two daughters aged ten and twelve. The parents among you have probably heard enough already, you know the gist of what's coming. Those of you who are parents of girls know what it's like. We love 'em to bits but it's a hellish existence for a Father. Even more so when their Mother is mad. My house is bulging at the seams with female hormones, they lurk in every room and every cupboard and jump out at me when I least expect it.

Thank God I have a drum room and some bathrooms where refuge and sanctuary can be sought in times of need. Even they are not as safe as they used to be. I can be happily grooving away to the latest song from Lily Allen one second only to find my headphones snapped off my head and myself caught in the latest argument about some girl related stuff the next.

Therefore, when I was dispatched to Kingston yesterday with the two daughters and instructions to buy each of them a pair of boots and a pair of trainers for one, it was with trepidation, apprehension and a feeling of doom for my wallet. I listened very, very carefully and concentrated hard on the wife's sergeant majorly instructions:

"Kingston..........boots..........mmmmmmmmmmm.......black (or was it brown?).....blah, blah.....buckles....."


Off we went, with a trumpety trump. Trump trump trump.

If you know Kingston you'll know that it's rather full of shops. In late November, on a Sunday, it's also full of people and not easy to stroll around with two kids while browsing for things like boots. Particularly when, between the three of you, no one has the slightest idea what they are looking for. Kingston has about ten thousand shoe shops and we went into each of them. In my experience women possess a strange and fuzzy kind of logic and it's not often used, but ten years old ones possess it in abundance.

I am a rare type of man. I like shopping. Yet I still shop in the man's way. You know how it works for us men; see it, maybe try it on, then decide within 2 seconds whether or not to buy it.

As simple as that. No looking at the price, no "will it match that shirt I wore last Saturday?", no "shall I buy that other one I tried on instead?" (we just buy both) and definitely no "What do you think dear?"

A few months ago I was standing in the checkout at M+ S, in the food section. I had some chicken and various stuff in my basket and the woman in front of me in the queue turned to me, pointing at my basket and said:

"Excuse me, do you know how much that chicken costs?"

I looked startled and blank and gave her the only correct reply:

"I'm sorry I haven't got a clue. I'm a man. We don't look at prices."

She nodded knowingly and apologised. Clearly, in a momentary lapse of concentration, she had forgotten the basics. Or she was chatting me up, but that is very unlikely.

We continued our browsing. Some pairs of boots were tried on, most were rejected at first sight for strange and illogical reasons. For the ten year old the most important thing was that the boots had buckles and any without such metallic adornments weren't even considered. I didn't understand why but I went along with it, remembering that the wife had said something about buckles too.

Finally we found a pair. It was in a shop staffed by halfwit students. The type who are more interested in chatting to each other about what they did last night than anything else. I felt rude and guilty but I managed to interrupt one such conversation to get served. After some trying on, some walking up and down the shop and some discussion with the 12 year old sister, the boots were finally approved. Phew. One down and two to go I thought.

The older sister then announced that she liked the boots in the very first shop we had gone into. So we traipsed back there, tried on boots, had the usual conflab and bought them. It was quicker and less painful than I had envisaged but it did involve walking the length of Kingston to get to the shop we had started in.

By now the girls were hungry so, being the health conscious type of Father, I bought them each a massive ice cream sundae and a Diet Coke. They ate happily while I looked in a shoe shop. I was talking to someone last week about how, as we get older, many of us get a far better idea of exactly what we like and dislike. For the last year I have been looking for a very specific pair of boots for myself and yesterday I found them. I tried them on, bought them, left the shop, all in about five minutes. Ok, I had spent a year looking for them but that's just detail.

That was it, job done. We decided to forget about the trainers and headed home. Me, my two girls, many large bags of shopping and a wallet that was a few hundred quid lighter than it was earlier. All was sweet.

Until we got home and their purchases were shown to their Mother.

"I told you NOT to get buckles, she's not allowed them at school." she bellowed in my general direction.

"Umm, I thought you said to get buckles and she was looking everywhere for some WITH buckles." I said, feebly.

No use, she wasn't convinced. Of course it wasn't my daughter's fault, it was all mine. Something about not listening or some other rubbish. Now we have to buy some more boots without buckles for her to wear to school or risk the wrath of her teacher.

Wimmin eh - can't live with 'em and can't live with 'em.

And that was my Sunday.

Kids eh - love them to bits.

Wimmin' - A different matter altogether!