Guest post from RACS RANTS, a fellow shopper is always loved here on Hormones.

Since G-man was born, I often find myself wondering, who is this little person and where did he learn certain behavior?  Was he born with it or did he really watch me that many times on my cell phone that he now carries it around like his own personal accessory?  Is texting the other tykes at My Gym the next step?   Was G-man born with a sports car gene that made his Hot Wheels Corvettes and Porsches instantly his favorite toys, or perhaps it’s watching his daddy play with the big boy version in the garage that started the obsession?

The other day I walked into the Trina Turk outlet store for the very first time.  Words cannot describe my visceral reaction to the colors, the cuts, the resort wear!  Chills went up and down my spine and I knew there were deals to be had.  I knew there were some great items that must be purchased.  To be clear,  I am not talking the kind of giddiness you feel getting a good parking spot at Trader Joe’s.  No it’s a Zen-like happy place where even the ring of the cell phone may annoy you because you know there is a job to get done and you are ready to take it on.  No doubt about it, I like to shop.  More specifically,  I like to purchase.  I am fast and usually accurate and known to buy things for friends that are just right.

So, yesterday at Irvine’s newest kid-friendly attraction, Pretend City, I begin to wonder if my son has been blessed with the same shopping gene.   I watch as the G-man runs up to the miniature ATM machine and grab wads of 5 and 10 pink dollars and start handing them out to other boys and girls (I swear I’ve seen my husband do this same move with casino chips in Vegas).  He then takes one look at me and runs as fast as his size [5?] Pumas will take him to the gift shop with pink 10 dollar bills flapping in the air behind him.  Without a blink of an eye, he dashes toward for the yellow dump truck he checked out on the way in.  I know the “generosity” of the moment is definitely a genetic trait from my husband (aptly appointed the Minister of Fun and Finance of our household).  However, as I watch G-man’s eyes glaze over at the cold cash in his hand, I  know immediately what he is feeling…. it must be spent. 

I guiltily admit that this self-indulgent genetic disorder of shopping the minute you get money in your hand may have come directly from my gene pool.  The G-man has this genetic code, good, bad or indifferent.  Did I actually teach him this?  Probably not since most of my indulgences are purchased without his presence.   So did I really pass on the shop gene to my son and will scientists soon discover the marker for this gene and provide us with a cure or maybe just a vaccine?  I find comfort in knowing that at least I can protect him from the possible wrath of post-purchase guilt by teaching him to hide the packages in the car (a technique that was, of course, passed on from my mother).