I have come to this conclusion after careful observation of friends, relatives and, to be scientifically accurate, total strangers.
By studying the reactions of my “target group” to certain public announcements, viz:
post-Christmas sales, advertising literature from fashion houses and audio-promotions for a wide range of consumer goods, and their eagerness to form what might conceivably be termed “raiding parties,” I have drawn the following conclusion:
I do not carry the Shopping Gene.
An apparent consequence of this missing element in the arrangement of my double helix means, in addition, that I display a marked distaste for cosmetic pastes, rarely patronise a hairdressing salon and am bored witless by “girlie” conversations about the advantages or otherwise of gel versus acrylic artificial nails and whether size 8 shorts would make my size 10 bum look fat.
While this condition is rare in the affluent, westernised world, suggesting that it may be due to environmental changes post-Industrial Revolution, a further consequence of my “condition” is that I am sometimes the focus of unwanted attention from some of Sappho’s followers.
Jumping from Sappho to Omar…
Show caution now! For rash NASDAQ on City’s floor
Has tempted us to buy then buy some more.
The lamp of Prudence, burning low,
May gutter e’re we stumble t’wards the Door.
Admonishments from frugal Fathers, past
Are lost in air as Profit bids us: “Fast!”
And Maynard Keynes calls us to worship Him
And nails our billowed colours to his Mast.
The Bull and Bear, they say, still tend
That Court where men were wont to buy and lend
And o’er those silent Brokers of the Past
The Wild Bull stamps, but cannot make them spend.