The Difference Between the Sexes: Shopping

I’m a man. 

Some of you may have noticed. Others may like to reserve judgement. I can assure you it’s the case as I have noticed some fundamental differences between the sexes and most of the time I fall into the male camp (now there’s a Freudian statement for you to haggle over!).

This week I talk about shopping. Further posts about the differences between the sexes will follow in the future…

Shopping

When embarking on a shopping trip, where the intention is to purchase an item of clothing, I work on the principle that if I like something I will buy it. If I don’t, I won’t. This will usually take the form of the following process:

1.   Enter store

2.   Look for required type of clothing

3.   Look at examples of required type of clothing

4.   Like item of clothing (go to 5) / Find all examples particularly uninspiring (go to 7)

5.   Try item on to confirm size (optional, depending on price)

(Technical option 5.5. Use phone to see if item is available more cheaply online, in required timeframe)

6.   Purchase item

7.   Exit shop (if item purchased go to 10)

8.   Enter next shop

9.   Repeat 2 to 6

10. Go home

This is the male method of shopping. It leaves optimum time for hunting and mammoth-wrestling.

It may look like she's smiling, but you just questioned her shopping technique. Run. Run fast and run far.

Observation reveals a different mindset in the female of the species when looking for a particular item of clothing and I shall attempt to describe the shopping process below:

1.   Enter store

2.   Eyeball the shop assistants to gauge threat/assistance level

3.   Head for random part of store

4.   Look at shoes

5.   Check self in mirror from corner of eye

6.   Look at handbags

7.   Fend off shop assistant with ‘just looking, thanks’

8.   Mentally compare makeup/breasts/height/weight/dress sense/shoes/hair as assistant walks away

9.   Find examples of required type of clothing

10. Look at shoes

11. Return to items of clothing and hold up in front of self in mirror while trying to ignore clash with makeup/breasts/height/weight/dress sense/shoes/hair

12. Like item of clothing (go to 13) / Hate everything, swear shop is rubbish (go to 14)

13. Put item back on rack (in wrong place to avoid someone else buying it)

14. Look at cheap accessories

15. Exit shop

16. Enter next shop

17. Repeat 2 to 13

18. Mentally compare all items to items liked in previous shops

19. Purchase item totally unrelated to purpose for shopping trip

20. Repeat 14 to 16

21. Go to 17 (repeat loop until all shops are exhausted, closed or partner has spontaneously combusted)

22. Return to first store

23. Avoid assistants

24. Find rack where item was hidden

25. Panic when item is not where it was hidden

26. Find item back in correct place on original rack

27. Eyeball assistant for daring to do job efficiently

28. Try item on to confirm size (non-optional, even if store closed 5 minutes ago)

29. Study makeup/breasts/height/weight/dress sense/shoes/hair in changing room mirror

30. Purchase item

31. Exit shop

32. Question decision all the way home

This is the female method of shopping. It leaves the male in no doubt as to the hierarchy in the relationship and indicates her preferred territory for future expeditions and birthday/christmas presents.

As you can see, when it comes to shopping, the male takes the more direct route, finding what he wants and moving on, whereas the female has to tackle the insecurity of not knowing if there is something better in the next store by ruling each of them out, one by one.

Other differences exist. I will be back (if I’m not lynched). If you’ve noticed a glaring difference you’d like me to share with everyone, let me know in the comments below.

Book Review: The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

The Ocean at the End of the Lane is a difficult book to categorise. It’s a fantasy. It’s an exploration of perception and memory. It’s a book for adults about childhood. It’s about sacrifice and trust. But mostly it’s a book that you should just read; it may be something different for you.

I’ve just finished reading this book for the second time. The first time was just after a traumatic experience in my life (see my post: Cherub) and it gave me a world to escape into, a chance to forget my pain and explore somebody else’s imagination. Except you never can escape your own demons - they colour everything around you - and mine went with me, hand in hand, to the farmstead of Lettie Hempstock at the end of the lane. 

The emotions it evoked felt raw, and real. I finished the book with a sense of loss, acceptance, unease and wonder, feeling that some questions had been answered and others had been asked. But I hesitated to talk about it with others as I didn’t know how much the book was channeling my emotions and I wasn’t yet ready to share. 

I’m stronger now and I’ve read it again. Same reaction. It turns out that all those emotions came from the book.

Read it.

Book of the Year 2013 in the British National Book Awards

The story follows a narrator that has just attended the funeral of someone close to him. He goes for a drive and finds himself somewhere that he hasn’t been since childhood, at the end of the lane. His surroundings prompt memories to surface of a series of events that happened when he was seven years old; fantastical, magical, terrifying and poignant events.

The voice of the narrator doesn’t come across as an adult talking about his childhood. It is acknowledged through the lens of experience that certain things would be reacted to very differently by his adult self, but the reader is very much transported into the mind of his seven-year-old self and it is easy to recognise the innocence, the naiveté and the simple world view of this. Adults are absolute authorities in the beginning, and discovering that it is possible for them to let you down is a very harsh lesson. He also finds friendship and the strength to stand up for himself, for something he believes in - not easy when you’re seven.

The world being described is small, as is the world of any child, but it is rich and evocative of a child's eye view. The cast of characters is also small, but between the cruelty of Ursula Monkton and the matter-of-fact knowing of the Hempstock ladies, all bases are covered and the world is full.

The book touches on the idea that all of reality is a matter of perception. We can only work with what we can see, feel, touch and deduce. What is actual could be a whole lot stranger and who’s to say that we’d ever be able to categorise it in any way that is meaningful to us. Lettie Hempstock’s ocean is a portal to understanding. Or it could be a universe in itself. Or maybe it contains all the universes. I need a lie down.

Oh, and look out for Old Mrs Hempstock’s explanation of why a supposedly old coin really isn’t. It’s unexpected and brilliant and had me grinning from ear to ear.

I can say nothing else, as to do so would be to spoil any revelations you may get from this story. This is a book for adults, but it contains nothing that a child should not read; if you have a child with a ravenous appetite for books then this will, in my opinion, fill a Harry Potter shaped hole and I heartily recommend it. 

Neil Gaiman is of that rare breed, along with Terry Pratchett, that sees the very same world that the rest of us see, but is able to take it, shape it, and present it back to us in a way that is fantastical, instantly recognisable and somehow more true. He revels in showing the reader the absurdity of life, along with the wonder and the horror that can simmer just below the surface. I urge you to check out his other work, such as American Gods or Anansi Boys, or to point your youngsters towards Coraline or The Graveyard Book, among others.

Keep exploring. Keep reading.

Personal Hygiene

Once more, I wasn’t sure what this week’s post was going to be about, and once more, the answer came when I least expected it…

Inspiration struck, quite forcibly, on one of my early morning train rides from Southampton to London this week. I had just settled into a window seat when my nostrils were assaulted by a rather foul stench. Regrettably, it wasn’t someone releasing the hounds after the previous night’s Chicken Madras. I say regrettably because, although such an odour is never welcome, it is something that we have all done at some point (maybe not on a crowded train, but we’ve all farted noxious gases at some point) and it is usually only a momentary attack on the olfactory senses. No, this was the creeping, lingering waft of what can only be described as combat-level body odour. Combat-level in the sense that the odour itself could be (or indeed, was) used as a weapon.

The man (or gorilla; the smell could have been gorilla, or possibly skunk) was sitting directly behind me, gently emanating waves of offence.

This was where I had cause to curse my British heritage. By now all of the other double seats had at least one person sitting at them. If I were to move I would have to leave what was, to the observer, a perfectly good double seat and encroach on the elbow room of one of my fellow passengers. This would be noticed and eyebrows would be raised. A quandary - make a scene or suffer in silence. My Britishness won out and I settled in for a trip of nauseating smells and some tactical tutting.

The main problem was, this wasn’t the smell of someone that had not long been to the gym, run or cycled to the train station, sweat patches radiating across their clothes. It wasn’t the smell of someone that had been in a stuffy office all day with no air conditioning. This was the smell of someone that clearly hadn’t washed or showered in quite some time, and (my nasal hairs quiver even now, remembering it) the smell wasn’t going away.

Most smells will be noticeable to you for a short time and then a memory effect will usually kick in and it will slowly fade into the background. This is why some people can spray on layer upon layer of perfume or aftershave and be totally unaware that they are the reason that birds are falling from the sky; the smell doesn’t fade, but their awareness of it does, so they think it’s worn off and spray more on. People approaching are then treated to the sensation of being slammed in the face with a full department store perfume counter. However, spend some time near them and suddenly you’ll realise you can barely detect it anymore.

This was not one of those smells.

I tried leaning forward, hunching over my book, to get further away from the stink, but it seemed as if every bump of the train brought forth another burst of weaponised B.O. Sometimes I will sleep on a train journey, but if you’ve ever had smelling salts you’ll understand how impossible that would have been. I’m fairly sure chopping onions would have been less likely to bring tears to my eyes on this morning.

If your friend insists he just has a thing for gas masks, check your pits...

What gets me is this guy looked fairly respectable, not dishevelled at all, his clothes looked clean and presentable. The problem had to have stemmed simply from a lack of personal hygiene and that’s what I take issue with. A noxious fart can sometimes take you by surprise and is your body’s way of telling you to adjust your diet or visit the littlest room - not pleasant (who am I kidding, if it’s your own there’s a certain pride involved) but at times unavoidable. Bad personal hygiene is either laziness or a disturbing choice. If you’re not a teenager you really have no excuse (being a teenager isn’t an excuse, but you try arguing with one).

Cleaning yourself, whether in a bath, shower, or a full-body flannel wash, is not just for your benefit. Making sure you don’t smell is as much for your fellow human beings as it is for you. My whole morning was affected by that odiferous experience and it has clearly made such an impression that I am now writing about it.

If you stink, people will not want to be near you. They will avoid you. You will not be picked up in bars. You will not get past that job interview. You will not pass Go and you will not collect £200. You will be a pariah and your entire life will be affected by it.

It is not necessary to always use the countless gels, creams, sprays, lotions and potions that adorn many a females’ (and metrosexuals’) wash kit, but simple soap and water is not expensive, followed by a smidgen of deodorant (deodorant, not Lynx - if you’re male and over 15 years old that stuff really isn’t for you). It doesn’t have to take long, either. If you’re too lazy for a shower in the morning take one the evening before. But clean yourself daily. Don’t allow a stench to build up that you’re not aware of.

Take pride in yourself, in the way you smell as well as the way you look. You will never be judged for smelling clean, but by Great Odin’s Raven you will be judged for smelling dirty. Make sure people evaluate you on the person that you are, not for the dumpster that you smell like.

That morning found me exiting the train faster than I ever have before, bursting out into the sweet, clean air of Waterloo train station, sniffing the diesel fumes as if they were the most fragrant of flower blossoms. My tactical tutting had proven ineffective in the war against B.O. so I made a vow to myself: never again would I suffer this in silence. Never again would I let my British stoicism and horror of making a fuss stand between me and the fresh air I craved. No, in future I would quietly gather up all of my stuff and move to the next carriage, taking care to make eye contact with no-one as I did so…

The Cleansing

I’ve had a busy week, this week, away from home for most of it, and this weekend I’ve been a little under the weather so I haven’t had the time or energy to devote to my regular post, sorry.

Fear not, devoted reader, I have dug something from my archives for you to read. It’s a short story that I wrote a couple of years ago for an online competition, but it was never submitted in time due to technical issues (wasn’t operator error, honest). Hope you enjoy it. Normal service will resume next week.

The brief for the story was this: write a short story in less than 350 words (flash fiction) that shows an alternative history. What if a particular scientific discovery had never been made? Show what could have been…

The Cleansing

“Great-Grandfather, may I ask you a question?” Peter poked his head around the door of the study.

        “You should be doing your homework, child,” said the old man, not looking up.

        “I am, sir, the question is related.” Peter stepped slowly into the room.

        His great-grandfather sighed and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Very well, but be quick, I am being picked up shortly.” He gestured at the boy. “Bring me my jacket.”

        “Another execution?”

        “Cleansing. Order must be preserved, boy. Now, your question?”

        Peter handed the jacket to the old man. “Well, I am currently studying the physics of the atom. It seems that a lot of work was performed in the early part of the last century on its structure.” He paused.

        “Go on.”

        “Well, then the text books just stop, right around the time The Cleansing began. I asked my teacher but he just refused to talk about it.” He looked at his feet. “I thought if anyone would know why...” He trailed off.

        “If anyone would know, it would be me.” The old man finished, looking at him. “If this goes any further I shall know.”

        Peter nodded “I understand.”

        “Sit.”

        Peter perched on a chair, watching his great-grandfather.

        “Further work was done in those days. Those opposed to The Cleansing believed that the atom was not the smallest structure – that it could be...split, and in splitting it vast amounts of energy could be released, or harnessed. Vast amounts.”

        “That's not in the books! Is it possible?”

        “As they found out, it isn't. They failed.”

        “But what if they'd succeeded? Where would we be now?”

        “We'll never know, boy. Best not to think on it.”

        “And no-one has tried to-”

        “Best not to think on it, child. Ever.”

        Peter's eyes widened.

        A soft tap interrupted them. The door opened slightly and a blonde head looked in. “Mr Hitler, sir? Your car is here.”

Think of atoms like this. Then forget that, they're nothing like this. At all. But if it helps...

Film review: Guardians of the Galaxy

*No spoilers*

Last night I went with nearly-wife to see the latest outing in the Marvel cinematic universe, Guardians of the Galaxy. To be honest, I went along with little in the way of expectation; I’m a fan of pretty much all superhero movies and have a reasonable familiarity with comic book lore, but I have to confess that I had never heard of this ragtag group of heroes before now. Nearly-wife just gave me *that* look when I explained beforehand that it had a walking tree and a talking racoon in it, but I’m ok on the brownie-points front at the moment so she agreed to go with me. 

You know what? We both had a great time. The movie had enough LOL moments (yes, we actually laughed out loud) to keep us grinning, some poignant moments that drew an ‘awww’ and more action than you could shake a stick at (stupid phrase; stop shaking sticks and pay attention).

The cast of Friends ten years on - something's gone horribly wrong...

Yes, the premise is silly, but it works. The film doesn’t take itself too seriously, the special effects are superb and the main characters bounce off each other well. Incidentally, two of the main characters being fully CGI did not look jarring, as these things so often can do. Rocket is a fully realised racoon with a serious chip on his shoulder and Groot is the tree ‘muscle’ that you just want to give a hug. The fact that Groot can only say “I am Groot” is no barrier to understanding what he is trying to get across.

Groot and Rocket are joined by Peter Quill, or Star Lord, a human that had been raised on the other side of the galaxy and whose main link to his roots is a mix tape of 70s and 80s tunes that gave a nice funky soundtrack to the film. There’s a bit of Han Solo and Mal from Firefly in him, making him a rogue that you can’t help liking. Gamora is a green assassin with a conscience that can kick butt with the best of them and Drax is a one ‘man’ army who takes everything said to him literally, to very comic effect.

At the beginning these characters are at each others’ throats, but through circumstance and the presence of a mysterious orb are pulled together to tackle the films’ main villain, Ronan, a typical over-the-top all-powerful evil dude that, shock-horror, wants to destroy everything. Special points go to his evil, blue, bald-headed sidekick Nebula, played by the virtually unrecognisable Karen Gillan (Amy Pond in Doctor Who), for being a bit more intelligent than your usual evil sidekick and actually kicking some ass.

There are links here to some of the other Marvel films, setting up future possible crossovers with The Avengers and teasing the presence of a future Big Bad in Thanos, one of the Marvel universe’s most powerful and dangerous villains.

If you like the other Marvel superhero films, go see this, I guarantee you’ll enjoy it. It does have a message, dished out a little heavy-handedly towards the end, but it’s a film with heart, with balls, and if it doesn’t make you LOL at least once then you are a lost cause, go get your funny bone checked out.

Oh, and look out for the whistle-controlled spear/arrow - that weapon is all kinds of awesome.