I finally understand why girls love shopping.

I used to hate it.  I couldn’t believe they created a magazine for the subject; I’d rather read about intestinal flu.

I hated it for two reasons.  First, I knew that the salespeople would recognize a complete clothes ignoramus as soon as I walked through the door.  They’d think to themselves: “Score.  Get an easy commission and offload crappy merchandise at the same time.”

Think I’m kidding?  Let me tell you something: that fierce jungle cat, the Le Tigre, wasn’t extinct as long as I was still in high school.  And Members Only jackets?  I was the very last member.

Second reason: as a result of the first reason, I hate talking to salespeople in clothing stores.  I avoid them.  I barely meet their eyes.  They say: “Can I help you find anything?” And I grunt something in ancient Sumerian.

So what happens when salespeople sees an anxious, on-edge shopper?  They immediately pull up their walkie talkies and whisper, “We got a Winona Ryder here on the second floor.  Don’t worry--I’ll keep an eye on him.  Have Manny and Jack wait outside with sniper rifles if it gets ugly.”

This makes my shopping experience even more stressful, because I’m expecting to get jumped as soon as I leave the store:

“Hands in the air buddy!  Let me see what you?ve got in your jacket there!”

“But I didn?t take anything.”

“Oh yeah, then what do you call this? A bag of croutons!”

“What do you care?  This is The Disney Store.”

And so on.  But yesterday, that all changed.  I found a pair of perfectly fitting Guess classic-fit jeans for $18.00.

$18.00!

My heart is singing.  My mind is sizzling.  My spirit is dancing.  This is shopper’s high!

So now I’m thinking two things.  First, girls are pretty smart.

And second, I’m thinking that maybe next I’ll get a pedicure.