Sex and shopping

She says...

WHOEVER at Asda dreamt up the plan to hold a special blokes night to help men with their Christmas shopping deserves a big present of their own.

For one thing, it might see wives and girlfriends getting some half-decent gifts on December 25. But more importantly, by keeping male and female shoppers apart women will be able to enjoy their favourite leisure pursuit all the more - because there's nothing like a grumpy bloke to ruin a perfectly good day out on the high street.

If there were an 11th commandment, I'd like it to be: "Thou shall not go shopping with your beloved".

Men, you see, don't appreciate the pleasures of a day up town. They can't understand why women choose to spend their entire weekend going round the shops. And now that Christmas is fast approaching, why they do it at lunch time too.

What men fail to grasp is what a satisfying activity it is. Whether sociable or solitary, few things beat a really good trip round your favourite outlets. It's not called retail therapy for nothing.

Personally, I prefer to shop by myself. That way I can suit myself and not waste precious opening hours waiting for my mum to decide whether the cut-price curtains she's found in Laura Ashley's sale bin will go with the sofa bed in the spare room.

And that brings us to another joy of shopping... bargain hunting. A huge part of the pleasure of shopping is sniffing out a best buy.

Parting with cash is a lot less painful when you believe your purchase is a prize - well deserved because you've finally found a fantastic cashmere sweater loads cheaper but just as nice as the one you spied four hours earlier.

Of course, Christmas magnifies the whole experience... and adds some magic too.

For starters, you don't need an excuse during the festive season to do a spot of shopping - it's positively expected of you.

And it's even more pleasurable when the streets are lined with decorations and fairy lights and your favourite coffee shop is selling seasonal goodies such as cinnamon-flavoured cappuccino or gingerbread Santas.

What's more, you can shop with a clear conscience knowing that if you do have to hide your bags from your nearest and dearest it won't be because you've bought yourself another Little Black Dress.

Of course, it's important to remember to shop within your means, but a shopping habit need not lead to bankruptcy. Most women get a kick out of window shopping and M&S still has its brilliant 'money back, no questions asked' returns policy which affords all the thrill of the purchase without the agony of having to part with your readies.

Window shopping can pay dividends too - as browsing makes bargain spotting easier.

I'm not sure whether the promise of curry and beer in the store restaurant will be enough to lure blokes into the men-only shopping nights at Asda.

For my part, I'd gladly do my man's Chrimbo shopping for him, as long as he gives me the cash and stays well out of my way - as in back at home and putting up the Christmas tree.

He says...

EVERY time I follow my wife into a clothes shop 'to look at the latest bargains' it strikes me afresh what a truly unselfish bunch we men are. Her eyes are invariably sparkling with excitement, her whole body alert and eager as she browses through rack after rack of coats, shirts and skirts. But for some reason I simply can't understand, she seems utterly oblivious to the waves of invisible gas seeping up through the store's floorboards, rendering every man in the place exhausted and abject with misery.

You only have to look at us to see what hell we're going through. The dull eyes, the shuffling gait, the shifting from leg to leg as we stand, a useful hanger for wife or girlfriend to drape items of clothing on - all the signs are there. Watch a man as he follows his woman around the clothes racks and you can judge almost to the minute how long he has been in a shop by measuring the absence of hope in his eyes.

So when I see how nobly men who are being put through such shopping purgatory bear their fate, I really am filled with admiration for my sex.

Do we moan? Not once. Do we heave long-suffering sighs designed to communicate the full extent of our misery? Of course not.

Do we even complain bitterly about why there are no chairs for us to sit on while the women rummage and sort? Never!

Who said love was dead?

When it comes to Christmas, though, it really is time to put the foot down. I'm willing to indulge my wife in a little trivial shopping time once in a while at other times of year, because I love her and it keeps her happy.

But at this so-called 'festive' season, when there's a ceaseless jingle of trashy advertising on TV and you can't walk into town without being accosted by some great, fat, booming person in a red coat and white beard exhorting you to buy something else you don't want, I really feel enough is enough.

Christmas is about something more profound than shopping, after all. I don't mind that she insists on cleaning the house, putting up a tree, or hanging paper chains around the walls, because that's in the spirit of things.

I can accept her cooking me a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, because I know it makes her feel happy. I won't even be too cross if she secretly insists on buying me a present to surprise me, because she is a woman after all.

But she really mustn't expect me to do the same. It's against my principles - and surely she realises that presenting her with the latest fragrance from Chanel or that chic amber necklace I saw her casting covetous glances at the other day wouldn't mean I loved her any the more?

Besides, I'd have to take my nose out of my newspaper, and we can't have that. Must keep up with the issues, after all - even at Christmas.

Updated: 11:05 Wednesday, December 05, 2001