“Wait!” he said, stopping our walk to a halt. He looks at me and looks ahead to tile walkway enclosed by colorful designer clothes. For once, the crowded mall was clear.

“Let’s walk just like mom!” He yanked my arm and bolted, manuevering through people without being rude or easing the brisk pace. He was laughing hysterically. I looked at the face of a female shopper trying not to break her disgruntled face with a laugh. For once, I laughed, too.

You see, my dad is a goofy guy. (I guess I get my goofy spouts from him.) In the simplist and most beautiful of terms, he loves my mom. Sure, he makes fun of her frantic speedwalking and her particular taste in clothes. But I know he loves her when we go Christmas shopping. We scoured that store, looking for exactly what my mom wants, no matter the cost.

Skirts, size 2 — brown, gray, off-white. Woven. No black.
Jeans — Levi’s 512, size 3.

Too tall for petite, but too small and skinny for regular, it takes couragous shopping warriors to endure the hunt. Every year my dad and I shop for her. Armed with his one-day coupon — the only way my mom would have it — we looked through every rack at our Macy’s and then he headed over to San Francisco to search every rack there. Skirts were not in this season, only gaucho pants. Of course, her favorite style of jeans is now discontinued. This also happens every year. Whoever said tapered pants are coming back, you sit on a throne of lies.

I don’t go shopping like that with my mom, however. I’m too bored with men’s clothing and he doesn’t even make a list until a few days before Christmas. But I know she loves him, in how she shops. My mom, a.k.a. the Coupon Queen, loves to find exactly what he wants for the best price. That way, she can get him more of what he wants. Somehow she has a knack for matching everyone’s personality in each present. And every year there is a story. We’ll open our presents, and my mom forgets to open hers. She’ll watch everyone else open a present, wait for their reaction and burst out with the story.