A selfless act of bravery

Okay, it wasn't an act of bravery in the same league as, say, pulling people out of burning buildings, or saving little animals found wandering around in the middle of an 8-lane highway at rush hour -- yet, bravery by any man's measure of such things should be noted, acknowledged and, yes, even revered. That's why I privately thump my chest and step up to the plate to admit, with just a tiny, (for modesty's sake) uncharacteristic reticency, at my own recent act of extreme bravery. Night before last, I volunteered to go shopping -- for clothes -- with Paula and Gena. No, there were no other men present, at least at first. No others willing to throw all caution to the winds and forsake all personal safety, to do what obviously needed to be done.

We chose an early hour -- something before 9 p.m., as I recall. The parking lot was deceptively uncrowded, and this failed to explain the teeming thousands of female shoppers found inside. I knew I was in trouble when, trailing Paula and Gena into the store, I was hit with a wall of scent -- perfume, scented oils, powder -- all of the unmistakable signs of vast numbers of female shoppers. Paula and Gena boldly and with no hesitation, waded right into the ocean of women. Being of sound mind, and having no wish to be instantly transported into Eternity, I wisely held back, looking for some small break in the phalanx of winter-clad bodies, churning up and down the aisles, with wild-eyed looks of determination and desperation in their faces. Seeing no such opportunity, I removed a scantily-clad female manikin from her perch on a display, and, climbing to the top-most portion of the display, dove headfirst into the mass of women shoppers, holding the manikin out in front of me for protection. (Side note: The manikin was wearing a cute little powder blue outfit of lingerie that I'll have to remember to buy for Paula. The manikin looked positively fetching as she and I sailed out across the army of women shoppers).

Oblivious to my forced entry into the lanes of frothing humanity -- all looking for the bargain of the day (and all carrying their little 15% off card in their hands as though they were clutching a gift-card for Heaven itself)-- I was swept along in the throng.

Having trouble breathing, due to all of the powder and perfume, and deafened by the roar of shrill chatter of thousands of lady shoppers, I frantically looked for a safe harbor -- somewhere in the hardware department. I shouted at one lady after another, "excuse me, ma'am, but where do they sell the power tools?" Receiving no response to my questions, I shuffled along with the crowd, and hoped that, with all the close-quarter contact, I was not losing my car keys, wallet, pens, knife, and 'black gadgets' (as Gena calls them) that I always carry around when I'm in public. Little kids carry toy trucks -- real men carry cell phones, P.D.A.'s, and lots of other important stuff.

Finally, seeing Paula and Gena again after what seemed like hours of shuffling up and down the aisles with the 'bargain sharks', I somehow broke free of the frenzied mob and sought refuge with the two women I recognized and trusted. They moved with the calm assurance I would have expected to see of Clint Eastwood, in some rough neighborhood in a Dirty Harry movie. They clearly knew what they were doing. They rifled through row after row of hanging garments, spending no more than 1/10th of a nanosecond on each one-- in their zeal to look at each of the 10,000,000 garments in each department. They moved with a blur -- a facility of movement only found in women. Their hands moved so fast they appeared to not really move the hangers at all, but just to pass over them, palms down, as though they were imparting some kind of mystical blessing on the clothes as they passed over them. I stayed close behind them, fearing that if I didn't, that I would once again be swept up in the crowd of shriekers, gigglers and frothers.

Later that evening, I ran into Mark Henderson. Mark, like I, appeared disheveled and weary. He, too, had done the manly thing -- the right thing -- and had thrown caution to the winds and forsaken all self-interest. He, too, had gone shopping with his wife. He and I both looked like we had been there for days. We were wandering about, in the thinning crowds, at this late hour, looking for some display where we could shove some manikins out of the way and sit down for a moment or two. No luck. No hardware department, where Mark and I could have shopped and felt comfort amid the saws, grinders, power blowers -- stuff with real substance and heft! A place with black gadgets galore! That would have been nice....that and a couple of easy chairs and a big screen t.v. With those amenities, and and a snack bar and we could have done the shopping thing all night.

Much later, somewhere around midnight, we found our wives and two fork lifts to get their planned purchases to a cash register. The 'beep, beep, beep', of the fork lifts, heading to the front of the store, told Mark and I that our ordeal was almost over. Now, we stood in line at the register (we used to call them cash registers, but that term is out of date, since no one uses cash anymore -- I now call them 'wealth extractors'). Mark and I each stood dutifully by our women, while women commented on each others' purchases: "Isn't this little doo-lolly the most preciooooouuuuss thing you have ever seen?"...."I just loooovvvve the cross-stitched, basted, ruffled, little thing-a-ma-jig...it's just the frilliest ever!!!" ....and lots of other things that I heard but can't spell or remember. That wealth-extractor business went on for another half-hour, and, to get out of there, I would gladly have given up to half my kingdom...or more.

Mark and I survived, and we both expect to be ensconced in some male Hall of Fame for having braved an 'after Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas midnight madness sale' with half of the women in Edmond.

We never found the hardware department, but, that's not uncommon, I hear. A good number of my male friends have also never found the power tools or a 'rest station' at Kohls. Maybe next year...

Final note:
As we were leaving the store, the lady who was manning the 'cash extractor' asked me if I would mind returning the little manikin (with the tiny blue outfit made for fun and games). "Oh...sorry," I said. In all the excitement and frenzy, I forgot that I was still clinging to her. I returned her to her station, straightened her hair and re-arranged her little outfit and we all went home -- with our vehicle straining under the weight of 'ALL THE MONEY WE SAVED.'