This year, I unexpectedly found myself at a mall in Dothan on Black Friday. To be honest, it hadn’t even dawned on me that this particular day was one in which I wanted to avoid the mall like an unwanted root canal. For years, I’ve dodged the chaos by working the day after Thanksgiving, steering clear of a caffeine-fueled, adrenaline-pumped mob willing to sacrifice their own grandmothers for a shot at a discounted waffle maker.

The truly serious Black Friday veterans scope out their plan of attack for days. They’ve memorized store layouts and calculated how many other people they must trample in order to score that last set of Tupperware on sale. They sometimes wait in frigid weather for hours until the doors open to that big-box store so they can get that marked-down game console. And heaven help anyone who gets between a bargain-hunting parent and that last, newest, must-have toy. Does anyone remember “Jingle All the Way,” in which Arnold Schwarzenegger played a frantic father who had forgotten to buy his son the promised toy and spent the entire Christmas Eve day pursuing the elusive item at ridiculous lengths? Ordinarily polite, mild-mannered people turn into warriors in yoga pants, starting with the game of bumper cars in the parking lot, all in the pursuit of peace on earth and goodwill to men that can only be achieved on the battlefield of consumerism.

The chaos and risk of losing an eye or a limb for a half-priced inflatable Santa just isn’t worth it to me. Now, with the ease of online shopping, I don’t even have to leave my warm house and brave the crowds of crazed, determined shoppers to get the must-have items on my Christmas list. Sure, there is a rush that comes from snagging a good bargain, but I more than make up for it in convenience and comfort.

Until this year. Younger Son, stationed at Fort Novosel, couldn’t come home for Thanksgiving, so we drove nearly two hours to see him the next day. Desperate to escape his life on the post, he asked to go to the mall. Of course, we accommodated his request so we could spend quality time with him. It wasn’t until we hit the parking lot that I remembered. Oh no! It’s Black Friday.

Bracing myself, I exited the car, expecting madness. To my surprise, the frenzy wasn’t so bad. Thank you, online shopping! Although crowds filled the stores, no one was fighting to snatch the karaoke machines out of someone else’s hands. The mall even had a J.C. Penny, a delightful discovery since our local mall store closed, despite my best efforts to single-handedly keep it afloat. Our family bonding ended as soon as we entered Penny’s. Younger Son and Older Son vanished, while several displays of sweaters screamed “Squirrel!” to me. Hubby gamely followed, serving as a human coat rack.

This is where shopping with three males becomes a buzz-kill. I found racks of great J.C. Penny clothes that were just begging me to try them on. Hubby, in an effort to move me along, suggested clothes—in the wrong size, with itchy fabrics, styles I would never wear, or colors I already owned. (For the record, he does this with Christmas trees, too. While I want to browse through all the trees on the lot to be sure we pick the best one, he eyeballs the first one he comes to and says, “This one looks fine. Let’s go.”) Meanwhile, Older Son returned empty-handed, declaring he was ready to leave. Outnumbered, I hastily grabbed three discounted sweaters, then groaned at the site of the checkout line snaking across the store.

Then, a miracle occurred! I spied Younger Son in line, second from the front, holding a shirt and sweatpants. I hustled over to him and thrust my sweaters and credit card into his hand, avoiding eye contact with people behind him. Paying for Younger Son’s merchandise was a small price to pay for skipping that half-hour wait.

So, all in all, my first Black Friday experience wasn’t too bad—until I got home and realized I already owned a green sweater in the same color as the one I bought.