Boxing day. For some it’s the day to go shopping, comprising the quest to bag the biggest bargain and cunningly outmanoeuvre the rampant crowds. It’s a day for shopping stayers – the ‘Melbourne Cup’ of shopping days as opposed to Christmas shopping, where one can casually meditate upon the suitability of a present for a recipient for at least say, five seconds, before ripping out the credit card. Ideally you start at 5am, (is there such a time?) This generally means lining up at doorsteps, usurping the sleeping places of homeless people, on the night before the sale, which is actually Christmas Day. And you finish…when you’re finished.
On Boxing Day the stakes are high. What is sought are at least 50% reductions on prized items and beyond. Focus and decisiveness are paramount. Shove your beautifully manicured fingers into the fray and grab the much coveted pair of patent leather platform pumps, or pound your hairy fist through the pack and win the ‘grab of the day’ by snatching a handful of designer business shirts.
But I can’t manage that. My shopping killer instinct has been killed. This Boxing Day I found myself lingering under the covers of my warm bed for an inordinantly long time. Geez it was nice. I didn’t have to go anywhere or do anything. Jack inquired in his dog way, when I would be getting out of bed. Finally when I did arise I was too lazy to eat breakfast and happily munched through five maybe, Cadbury Favourites.
Of course I am the loser in all of this as I laze with Jack. There are bargains to be had by simply getting into a car and stumbling headlong into the human throng. I will neither possess the latest iphone nor a fabulous dress. I will wear the same old stuff, a little like Jack in his handsome classic black and white coat – or in Karl Stefanovic’s case the same suit every day – and embrace it.
Good luck to the stayers. They will be the well dressed ones.