I never “got” the mall.  Even as a teenager, I didn’t grok it.  Fluorescent lights, bored sales clerks, generic merchandise.  Since I lived in Montreal, I prefer boutiques or online shopping or la Braderie de la Mode quebecoise–or buying nothing, which is a laudable choice in our consumerist age.

But I guess I’ve been buying too much nothing, if that makes any sense, because I went nuts today at Fairview.  I felt like a newcomer to the First World.  Wow, look at that.  A “salle d’allaitement” with an automatic door, two rooms, a choice of armchairs or sofas.  A food court with a plethora of ethnic food choices (I saw a girl eating pizza and automatically pitied her before I remembered that some people actually prefer that kind of food, as I did at age 12, well before I moved to the country).

I even made a new friend while we were breastfeeding.  She sat down and talked to her daughter.  I said, “Hey, you talk to your daughter just like I do.”  (The other two women were sitting there, quietly nursing.)

She said it was because some studies show that talking to your child, instead of just ordering them about, makes them develop reason and even a greater moral sense.

Hm.  “Yes, but what kind of studies were they?  Did they actually divide the children into groups and follow them to see how their reason developed?”  I waited for her to say, “I just read it in a magazine,” in which case I would say, “Okay, cool.”

She said, “There’ve been a few studies.  Some of them, they did divide into groups.  Other ones, they tested at one time…”

I said, “Okay.  I HAVE to ask you what you do.”  And I knew we would be friends.  Just like my friend Geneviève.  Instant click.

I am SO HAPPY.  I was happy already, but having Anastasia and Max here and healthy put me over the top, and the CBC thing is bliss, and then I went and bought stuff which I must share with you loyal readers, all two of you.  🙂

I only went to four stores, but I bought stuff at all four of them.  Very unlike me.  (Matt once said that shopping with me was horrible.  “Why?  I didn’t even buy anything,” I said.  “That’s right.  All that time, and you didn’t even buy anything!”)

Here are the fun bits:

I’ve never really had good shoes.  A few nicer ones, nothing wow.  Boots, yes.  One sweet pair in 2002 (knee high black NextDay, just got them resoled last year, made in Canada and still fabulous) and two more last year (thigh high shiny black Brown’s boots made in Italy; red knee high faux crocodile la Canadienne boots made in, yes, Canada).  I guess mentally I rationalized boots for the cold weather which, despite global warming, gets pretty nippy around here.  But today I f-ing BOUGHT SHOES.

These are perrrrrrfect for my black Cruella jacket with ruffles in the back (a Victorian/steampunk look).  And just for jazzing up, well, anything.


These are my new princess heels.

The last high heels I’ve worn with any consistency, my mother gave me for my wedding (red strappy sandals).  So this is big for me.  I’m a flats girl.  BTW, I did try on some ballerina flats and stuff, but they’d run out of my size.  Which seems to be size 9 now, post-kids.  Ah, well.  Having waited this long to indulge in shoes, at least I don’t have to freak out about all the glorious shoes that don’t fit me right now and may never again.   I made friends with the shoe salesman, Amine, as you can see.

Even Matt told a story.  While he sat on the bench outside of Brown’s with eight other men and no women, he overheard a guy saying not to wear your wallet in the back pocket because “some sort of specialist said it would twist your spine” from sitting crooked.  I said you could just get a skinny wallet, but whatever.