My Shopping Sherpa

Ah, the life of a Baroness. Flitting here, cavorting there. Some days it’s too, too much, darlings. I need a nap. Wait.

I should exercise full disclosure here, lest you, dear reader, think that I live the life of Riley. Flitting here – grocery store. Cavorting there – PTA meeting. Not so glamorous after all. But I am blessed with a wonderfully rich internal life, where the weather is always balmy, the mental stimulation always intoxicating, and the swanning in and out of rooms is the only form of aerobic exercise that need exist.

It’s a study in contrasts, this internal world and external world. But like something out of a dream, I am also in my external world blessed with something every lady should have - a Shopping Sherpa. What, pray tell, might that be, Baroness? Sit down and get comfy and all will be revealed.

One of my favorite birthday presents is to have a day or two at a stateside shopping complex. Remember yesterday’s missive? I’m all about the shiny. My excursion, mind you, is not to go wild with purchasing. For the real thrill, they say, is in the hunt. And for the Baroness, the thrill is also in the “75% off the last ticketed price” signs that dot the landscape. Score! Yet, traveling through these vast expanses of retail while bogged down with bags is a real buzz kill. And, after all, it’s my birthday, and buzz kills are not allowed on that specific day. Enter the Shopping Sherpa. This wonderful companion stands faithfully beside you at the cash register, then takes the hand-off from the cashier with the grace of a mime and the finesse of a surgeon. All day, without complaint, this fine fellow totes around packages. All he needs is a little sustenance and a splash of water. Oh, and his Blackberry. Happy Sherpa = happy Baroness.

On the weekend that the B & family ventured down south, there came a busload full of women shoppers, whose express purpose was to hit the Post-Thanksgiving/Pre-Christmas bargains, armed with only their wits, unwavering stamina, and a purse heavily laden with credit cards. The morning of arrival, the Baroness was riding the elevator down with a gaggle of these women, who were bemoaning the fact that since they came by bus, they would have to carry their packages around all day, rather than going back to their car at set intervals to store their ill-gotten booty. Wouldn’t it be great, said one of the women, if we had someone to carry our packages around? The Baroness smiled, but said nothing. For while she knew that she was lucky beyond measure for her Shopping Sherpa, to admit that she had one would bring about a great disturbance. In the elevator. And possibly in her internal organs. So she remained silent.

It’s very odd, having such an amazing spouse. Don’t get me wrong – I thank the constellations hourly for my good fortune. It’s just the perception of him that’s weird. Even though I want to gush, to do so somehow feels boastful. I can’t reveal too much about the wonderful things he does – it can bring about such a strange chain of unhappiness. Unhappy wives become unhappier, and bring wrath down upon their unsuspecting husbands (who up until then were blithely unaware of their inactivity). These then unhappy husbands then become upset with the Baron. What started as a beautiful gesture is reduced to something festering and blameful. How on earth did that transpire? I don’t exactly know, and I’m not exactly sure that it is my puzzle to ponder.

But, to not acknowledge his actions or express my unfailing gratitude would be not be right either, given all that he does. So, here’s to you, my Shopping Sherpa. You are a wonder of a man, and I love you.