ShareThisIt's an uncommon problem for a man, one that can't be cured with pharmaceuticals or a therapeutic fishing trip. It's a problem that few men ever discuss in public -- rare enough, in fact, that it takes a real man to admit it.No one wants to shop with me.This is, really, two admissions in one. First, I enjoy shopping. And not just lumber or tool shopping. Providing there is no holiday deadline looming or crush of humanity in the mall, I enjoy perusing clothing shops, kitchen outlets, and shoe stores. I am aware that this is not normal, and unfortunately, this isn't where the abnormalities stop.Apparently, my shopping style is so frustrating, so exasperating, that not even the most experienced and savvy shoppers will shop in my company.What is it, then, that drives hard-core shoppers to sigh in disgust and collapse, defeated, in the designated "husband chairs"? What could force my loved ones to send me shopping alone? It's a simple, unfortunate affliction that sends even the most conspicuous consumers to wait in the parking lot.I love to shop. I hate to buy.I'd say my rate of purchase is about one in fifty. Fully two percent of my shopping excursions actually involve the exchange of currency. Otherwise, I'm just along for the ride, seeing what's out there, making comparisons, doing research. Or just confirming that there was really nothing I wanted in the first place.But again, I love shopping. I am drawn to sales and clearance racks. I'll take armloads of clothing to the dressing room. I'll have this knife cabinet unlocked, and then that one, and then this one again (please). I'll carefully fold and restock as much as I can. I'll be as courteous and respectful as possible. And I'll probably leave empty-handed.This has been a lifelong passion, inspired, I think, by my family's early attitudes toward money. When I was young, it seemed we were always one misplaced coupon away from utter poverty. If my OshKosh couldn't last another month, we'd be living on handouts. If I wanted new toys rather than hand-me-downs, I might as well pawn the family Revere ware.This, of course, was an utterly false construct created by my mother to keep discounted ground-chuck on the table. But it must have worked. Because this columnist and his money are not easily parted.When I genuinely want something, aside from the daily necessities, it's an unending, often agonizing search. Options must be compared carefully online. Field trips must be made to examine the merchandise in person. There are no impulse purchases. Up until the swipe of the card, my only impulse is to flee.As my earnings increase, the objects of my incessant research rise in value, yet the two percent never changes. And as an impending marriage requires "joint" purchases, this has become a problem for more than just me.So what to do with a love for shopping and a fear of the receipt? I know that, over time, I'll have to scale back such a blatant buying neurosis. For the benefit of those I love, I'll eventually relinquish the necessary decisions to someone mature enough to carry the credit card.It is, really, the manly thing to do. And until then, I'll be in housewares.(Ben Grabow writes for the young, the urban, and the easily amused. Contact him at thinlyread(at)gmail.com.)(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, http://www.scrippsnews.com)
Men who shop...but never buy
Paying taxes unites us. It also divides us. People can pay five and even six times more in state and local taxes than other folks in similar circumstances making similar incomes.
Who's got your number?
In one of the fastest-growing forms of identity theft, crooks are stealing tax refunds by swiping personal information and using it to trick the Internal Revenue Service.
