Decision Challenged

Last week I went into a store to choose a purse. Unfortunately the purses were all hung high, so that I had to ask the store owner to get down anything I wanted with a long stick. I had him get down a lovely cream colored woven one. Then he stood there, waiting for me to decide. Silly man. I went back a couple of days later to look at the same purse but saw two others I also liked. The nice man got all three down for me but again he stood there, stick in hand, waiting for me to decide. The pressure was unbearable and I left, like before, empty-handed.

Commitment is hard for me. Well, it’s a struggle. I mean, I don’t like to do it. The permanence of a final choice is distressing. When it comes to making decisions about the big things--jobs, children, hair length-- people are understanding. Like my realtor who once said “Oh, you’re not sure which salary-sucking-lifetime-commitment house you want to put an offer in on? That’s okay—you think about it overnight.” Instead, it’s the small things that really cause problems for the decision-challenged among us. My tailor has learned not to put down her pins when I say “Yes, that length is fine”. Other supermarket shoppers breeze past as I examine every apple in the bin. And pity the hurried waiter who expects me to choose from a menu with over four items.

I went back into the purse store today. Silly man grabbed his stick when he saw me. I announced that I had made a choice. As he rang up my purchase, he kindly volunteered that if I got home and found that this one didn’t “work” I could bring it back. I told him I was certain that this was the one. He didn’t look convinced. When I got home, I stuck the store bag and receipt under my bed—just in case.