The Mall at Christmas..the Finale.

Ahhh, the mall.

The song "Santa, Baby" playing in every store.

Mr. Claus, himself, looking bored in his roped off wonderland, his deactivated-with-a-bottle-opener ankle monitor barely visible under his Santa pants and about three million people milling about in the Apple Store, patiently waiting to plunk down enormous sums on the latest techno-gadget.

It was as I expected.

I did encounter several "department store men" stumbling about helplessly but there was no "coupon lady" to be found. In her place, I witnessed an exhausted shopper have a total meltdown over the fact that there were too few cashiers in Macy's. I almost joined in but was too busy looking for a cashier.

There were, as predicted, huge numbers of freshly-minted collegians on the premises--the girls squealing and exchanging air-kisses while the guys did the "bro-hug" and clicked budding antlers.

If none of this makes sense, please refer back to yesterday's post--it will give you a frame of reference for shopping at virtually any mall across America during the holidays.



Every single year I forget how the combined scents in the Bath and Body Works almost put me into pulmonary arrest but wander in anyway just to experience the love from the small army of manic employees who instantaneously welcome me to the store.

The battle for olfactory domination is on!

Almost immediately, I am bid adieu by the same apron-clad army as I beat my way back to the exit, reeling from the coconut, lime-verbena, vanilla bean, lavender, cucumber-melon, lemongrass, blackberry, ylang ylang, pomegranate, mango-mandarin, sensual amber, citron and honey suckle fumes.

I did find a place to sit and enjoy a bottle of water--miraculously, directly in front of Sephora (again, refer back to yesterday's post), squeezed between one apparently dead man wearing a Northface jacket and another who was self-comforting, while his wife cavorted amidst the lipsticks, with pretzel nuggets dipped in warm cheese.

Despite the fact that I immediately began pointing to my mouth, rubbing my tummy and wiggling my eyebrows at him, he did not offer me a single one.

Men, take note: the perfect gift.

While resting, I wanted to applaud a man who emerged, smiling, from the store clutching a little Sephora shopping bag that looked just the right size to contain a gift certificate buried in colorful tissue.

For all the men reading this, take a lesson--his wife will not want to disembowel him with a fireplace poker (or, in my case, an immersion blender I keep handy for just such occasions) on Christmas morning...and, judging by the expression on his face, he knew it.

I avoided the pet store because I would have come home with a puppy and turned my face away from the giant chocolate strawberries in Godiva's window lest I be tempted to blow this month's mortgage payment and buy a half dozen. 

Or, would I have eaten a puppy and brought home the strawberries...I was still too addled from Bath and Body to have gotten that one right.

Buzzy's new pal?

Illegal in some states.

I also had fun faking out the assassins at the cosmetic kiosks who wanted to rub lotion into my wrists by appearing to approach them with my flaky skin at the ready but then backing away quickly. It was the fastest I've moved since 1981.

So, I did my thing, emerged alive and came home to two taped episodes of Cash Cab and one of Hoarders.

Though I didn't finish my holiday shopping, my shoelace did not get caught in the escalator like last year so it was a very good day.