I went to the mall with my aged parents to do some Christmas shopping.
Note to self: find some excuse next time to avoid going with aged parents to the mall to do Christmas shopping.
I don’t dislike my parents–I love them very much. All the more so because they’re allowing me to live under their roof until my property settlement is finalised. In fact, I don’t mind sitting with them in a car or at lunch and hearing them squabble over the smallest and most ridiculous things, as long-term married couples do.
Here’s some other things I don’t mind, either:
- I don’t mind adding my mother’s mobile phone number into my dad’s phone directory because he didn’t realise he deleted it and doesn’t know how to get it back.
- I don’t mind that my father buys innumerable pairs of underpants every time he goes out (he has a draw full of new, unopened, old man undies, and insists on getting more. Just in case of an underpants apocalypse, I guess. You can never have too many pairs of undies when the s$&@ hits the fan at the end of the world).
- I don’t mind that my Mum insists on telling me how to drive, even though she can’t drive herself.
- I don’t mind that by lunchtime I’ve done most of my shopping and they’ve bought one pair of socks.
- I don’t mind that dad asks me to buy him the new Simon Scarrow book for Christmas, then goes and purchases it anyway without telling me, literally ten minutes after he asked me to get it.
- I don’t mind that my mother argues with me over the price of a DVD box set I’m planning to purchase as a gift, because she thinks I’m too poor to afford it.
- I don’t even mind sitting in the backseat on the long drive home as my parents have an extended phone conversation with a friend on loudspeaker without ever acknowledging to them that I’m there.
Shopping with the olds. I don’t mind it at all.
But I think I’ll go shopping on my own, next time.