Jacquie’s mother wanted to get us something for Christmas.

So, Jacquie asked her mom for a set of towels. They decided to meet up later this week to shop for them. So far, so good.

But when she was telling me about this, I couldn’t help getting the feeling that she wanted me to come along.

Why in the hell would I want to go to the mall on a weeknight with Jacquie and my mother-in-law to shop for towels? In what parallel universe does this invitation even make sense? The one where up is down, and down is gazebo?

In fact, the proposed scenario contained several hideous elements.

Malls are a complex of awkward, sometimes social, architectural and culinary experiences, with interconnecting walkways.

I would rather go to the dentist than go to the mall. Well, on second thought, I would rather my dentist go the mall, to see his dentist, than to go to a mall. In New Zealand, sales girls are trained to manifest the thrill of purchasing a pair of socks, at the mall. It is never just their particular sales commission that they love. They are far more excited about the Anthropocene wonder that is a complex of shops representing merchandisers, with interconnecting walkways.

Is it any wonder that Dawn of the Dead is set in a mall?

But, in addition to that, what in the world would make Jacquie think I didn’t have anything better to do with my time than to go shopping with her and her mum.

“What color do you think we should get?” she asked me.

She really thought I was interested. What have I done to make her think that I gave a shit? How is it that you can live with someone for eight years, and they still just don’t get you, man.

I had to test if it were true, if Jacquie didn’t really know me, or worse, she knew me all to well, and was taking a sadistic pleasure in making such an indecent proposal.

“Were you just inviting me to go shopping with you and your mum?” I said.

“Oh, no of course not,” she said.