SHALL WE SHOP TODAY?

(Excerpted from Life is a Frolic by Goolbai Gunasekara)

The one phrase calculated to galvanize any young person into flying out of bed is that magic question, “Shall we shop today?”

A tousled head shoots out from under a pillow.

“Where, where?” To KitKat, my granddaughter, the word ‘shopping’ has a sort of intonation that no other sound can equal. It is an incantation of magic.

“Shall we try the new boutique advertised yesterday?”

Really, I am so crafty I surprise myself. I need KitKat to help me carry a few new books from Vijitha Yapa Bookshop to my car plus a few household necessities.

She bounds out of bed and is ready so fast I have barely time to turn round and catch my breath before casually mentioning that I do need to have a short stop at the Crescat Supermarket before treating ourselves to those Palaces of Delight — namely the new clothes shops opening up all over the city these days. She resigns herself to my perfidy.

“I knew you’d make me pay for this,” says she. “I trust you will make it worth my while,” she adds sternly.

“How much will it take?” I am cautious. KitKat’s ideas of economy do not exactly dovetail with mine.

She reviews her needs while she calculates the worth of her ‘help’ today.

“Perhaps a pair of shoes?”

Shock renders me speechless. Good shoes are at a premium in Sri Lanka where imports in that area rival the price of gold.

“Locally made of course.”

“Of course not, Achchi. Aren’t you always telling me to wear only shoes with perfect instep support and firm heels?”

“So?”

“So it’s the imported ones that have all that good support.”

“My concern for your feet does not run over two or three thousand.”

She snorts but adds hopefully, “Rupees or dollars?” She ignores my look of outrage.

Eventually we reach the new Den of Temptation. KitKat vanishes to be seen no more till bill settling time. The clothes, handbags and shoes are just lovely. I drift round the place vowing that my diet would start that very day. Not even the most optimistic sales person would be able to see me in any of those sleek outfits so temptingly displayed under the soft lighting of the air-conditioned Interior.

“Nothing will fit me,” I tell the sweet assistant sadly, who incidentally, looks a model herself.

“How about a handbag?” she asks tactfully. “We have just got a new shipment.”

Now here is another thing I always wonder about. How is it that whenever I shop, the latest shipments have JUST come in? Do these astute young assistants realize that I shop so rarely I would not recognize the handbag styles of 2009? They are right of course. I wouldn’t, but Kit Kat would.

I locate her in a dressing room which is awash with an entire clothes rack.

“What do you think?” I show her the white handbag I have been needing these many months past but have been coping comfortably by borrowing hers. “

She is surprised. “Very nice Achchi,” she says. “Did you choose it?”

“Of course.” My assistant smiles understandingly. She is going to give me the credit for having good taste. I am feeling so pleased with all this that I tell KitKat to get what she really likes. She shows surprising restraint and two hours later we both emerge into the sunlight very pleased with ourselves. I realize suddenly that I had not had the slightest intention of getting myself anything. I give KitKat a sidelong look which she interprets correctly as being a trifle sheepish.

“It’s difficult to resist an occasional luxury, isn’t it?” “Hmm, hmm,” I say noncommittally.

“My psychology professor used to say that shopping is a panacea for depression.”

“Well, I’m not depressed and certainly neither are you.”

“That’s true,” she told me, adding airily, “Prevention is better than cure don’t you think?”

We are in total accord for once.