Phobia

Children are victims. Parents fill kids' consciousness with their own irrational fears and doubts. Some are religious nut-jobs while others scream at the mere sight of a spider. Hence, children are victims of their parent's credulity.

I am extraordinarily lucky: My father does not fear snakes and I don't pay any heed to those measly spiders as they skitter past, they being afraid lest I wield my rolled newspaper like a club. Neither do I suffer from a fear of a large number of mythical and supposedly dangerous scaled creatures.

However, even so, I was not spared. I was indoctrinated with the strict loathing and fear of just one thing: Shopping.

Indeed, my father is the epitome of the anti-shopper. Bring him into a shop, or near a shop, or indeed in the vicinity of shoppers, and he goes off like an overzealous burglar alarm! In his humble opinion, shoppers can go f*ck themselves. Scum-of-the-earth, villains and other colourful descriptions follow in quick succession.

With a role model as this, how could I resist? Thus, I came to dislike shopping as well.

Strangely though, even though it's taken a while, I realise I actually don't mind shopping. Don't get me wrong - I'm not in the "Shopping is a recreational activity" kind of zone, but I'm cool with a "If I need a shirt I don't mind going and looking around" kinda thing.

But ofcourse, like first-geneation atheist children, it takes a while for the scars to heal. So, dear friends, If I ever fall asleep standing whilst you "check out" clothes, please note that I should not be blamed: It was the few days my dad went shopping that are responsible here.