Do you like stories?

I hate shopping. 

I know, I've said it before and I'm getting boring now but I really do hate it. It's exhausting, frustrating and expensive.

The Long Suffering Husband took a few days off in the week to spoil my half term indolence. This has resulted in an even more tired and grumpy woman, who instead of sitting on her bum reading, cleaning out the odd cupboard has been forced to be sociable, go to the theatre and shop. What with that and the end of the Uni visits and the Royal Albert Hall concert coming up (which is great but always makes me surprisingly anxious beforehand) I'm probably someone that it's best to avoid.

The LSH decided that he needed new trousers and that I was going with him. "It will be nice to spend some time together and you might find something you like. You could spend your birthday money."

Men are expected not to enjoy shopping. They are presumed to get irritated waiting for their partner to come out of the changing room. Shops have catered for men in these situations and have sofas for spouses but only outside women's changing rooms. 

In search of somewhere to sit in Marks and Spencer's I found the home department: a comfortable sofa, coffee table and books on the bookshelf; a real home from home, so I settled in. 

It was a funny place to sit. Adults had private conversations above my head, as though I were a stuffed toy. The first conversation taught me to keep quiet.

"That cupboard is really nice."

"Hmmm. Not bad for a place to fill up with more of your junk."

I laughed. 

Out loud.

 Properly.

 It was funny. 

They both looked at me oddly. 

My phone buzzed with a text from the LSH, "in fitting room taking off trousers." 

I laughed again. Luckily the couple had gone.

I won't divulge any of the secret conversations that I heard after that except to say that my advice would be not to go to that party but it's probably too late now.

Children hadn't received the memo to ignore the strange woman who doesn't like shopping. They waved, smiled, showed me their sore knees and asked questions. One little girl said, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting," I told her.

"Are you allowed?"

"No one has told me I can't."

"Oh, right then."

A small boy came running towards me. He screeched to a halt and decided to sit  with me. 

"Do you like stories?" he asked snuggling up next to me.

"How did you know?"

"You looked like you do."

"Do you know any good stories?"

"Yep but I thought you could tell me one."

Just then his mum waddled up, puffing and rubbing her swollen belly.

"I'm really sorry," she said to me, "now leave this poor lady in peace."

"But she's going to tell me a story. Sit down mum. You look tired. You need a story too."

It an be hard to argue with that kind of logic. Maybe shopping isn't so bad after all.