Henri Reynard Speaks Out

Parking at the After Christmas Sales

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My wife, her mother, her aunt, and my daughters are all heading for the Great after-Christmas sales at the local shopping centers. It is an annual tradition nearly as old as this nation, or at least as old as advertising. The ads in today's papers weigh more than enough to reduce to whimpering puppies even those large dog breeds with strong jaws. Since all we have is a cat, who only recognizes two uses of paper, one is chastisement, and the other is her revenge on the offending media, I will have to fetch them most days. Today is different, male emancipation is upon us, and even if it only lasts one day, it is welcome. Not only will the ladies grab the newspapers before the sprinkler can get to them, but they will be dissected and the news-bearing segments will be cast aside for either my use or the cat's, only depending on who gets to them first.

Thus it begins, the annual orgy of consumption that will exhaust inveterate shoppers everywhere in our nation. Only once have my ladies failed to keep this date sacred, when my wife and I were on our way to New York City, the Mecca of shoppers in the east, on the day after the Greatest consumers holiday on earth. They spent the whole day preparing her for her holy journey. She did not fail in her mission. When we returned, with much new luggage, they all assembled and viewed the remains of my financial security. They were ecstatic!! I knew what the dog feels like when faced with the after-Christmas newspaper, frightened, awed, and broken on the rack of after-the-holiday dress displays.

Pragmatism reigns on this day, for men of my nature, staying out of the way is a primary rule of survival today. I have attempted to cultivate this wise behavior in my son's and sons-in-laws during the years when we have known one another. We will wait until the ladies leave for their sacred journey, then we will send the children out to play and trot out the cigars and Cognac and sometimes the cards. Poker is always forbidden on this day, no one expects to leave this day with any disposable income left indisposed. We might play Rook or old maid, but never a game that requires money. We are all inured to our fate, and we cultivate the qualities of the great stoics throughout history. We never whimper or whine, we just remain calm and courageous, when faced with the ruins of our hopes for a quick trip to Vegas or even the local casino on Indian land.

Now the essential shopping trip takes place even when there is no money left after the Great Holiday. These ladies are true shoppers, and know the importance of recognizance and good information. There will be other paydays in life, and they need to be ready. Besides the desperate merchants are going to keep dropping the prices over the next few weeks until no one can resist giving the remains a decent burial in their closets. Predicting just when a desirable piece of merchandise will reach the point of consumption is a fine art, and my ladies are experts. They can tell which tidbits will survive several price reductions, and which will only be available for one more cycle of play.

They might even just try things on, and not buy anything today, although that is rarer than a warm day in December anywhere but where we spend Christmas, In Palm Springs. We live there the rest of the year too, and pay for these beautiful days during the cold months, in August, when temperatures rise above 120, and seldom fall below 100 at night. I add that fact for the benefit of those of you who like our relatives might be tempted to move here. The summer heat is awesome and melt-your-CD's-in-the-car devastating. Please don't try this unless you are willing to experience heat like nothing you easterners have ever seen, and shoppers like my wife and her assistants. They have been tested in the crucibles of The Fourth of July Sales in Palm Springs and never wavered. No mirage will ever fool these ladies into false shopping, they are tried and true consumers.

I salute these warriors of the mall! They will shop on, and destroy the threatening recession before it can even work up strength enough for a dull roar. They will single-mindedly and multi-handedly scour the sales tables clean. And when they are done they will smile on the food merchants and lunch, in the winter sun of their glory, resting from a labor of love that I can only admire from afar. As far as I can arrange to be on this sacred day of my ladies glory. The Spa and ritual cigars and cognac being completely consumed, the men will retire to the swimming pool with the children, and try to drown their sorrow in the rites of exercise, to dispel the fat of Christmas past. Thus it is now, and so might it ever be. If we can all stand the pace, and none of us falter. Perish the thought! Maybe it's time for another trip to New York?