6.3.00

I Don't Want To Talk About It

Shopping.

Feh.

I don't like shopping. I went on the odd shopping excursion with my friends whilst I was in high school, but this was quite rare. After one particular foray through the mall, during which I whined about how fat I was and never wanted to try on another dress and would prefer to get lunch, I think the other girls decided not to invite me out with them ever again. I was fine with that. In fact, they could have just left me in the bookstore and I would have been deliriously happy, poring through countless volumes and adding to my Christopher Pike collection, not caring about missing out on the experience of trying on dress after dress only to find that once on, they all look bad.

Well, they never looked bad on my friends, but me... I'd see the perfect garment, try it on, look in the mirror, and try to hold back my tears. I once found a lovely yellow dress with a soft floral pattern floating over the top in a layer of chiffon. Absolutely gorgeous - but on me, a disaster area worthy of "Do Not Cross" police investigation tape. I gradually learnt to abhor shopping, except for the rare times I went out and found a t-shirt I liked, or jeans that fit alright. I'd be lying if I said all shopping experiences sucked; there was one time I tried on this beautiful ankle-length dress, composed almost entirely of velvet patchwork backed in black lining, with dark purple cheesecloth sleeves, and my shopping companions applauded when I emerged shyly from the fitting cubicle. If only I'd had enough money to buy that dress...

I'm digressing. Today, shopping was still the horror I've known it to be. I didn't really want to go - I'm not the type to subject myself to crowds or rack upon rack of clothing I know I can't afford nor fit into - but I have to get some more clothes before my trip (33 days until I leave with Nathan at my side; 26 days until he's here - !), as what I currently own that fits and is fine for wear will barely cover a corner of a suitcase. No, I exaggerate. Perhaps two corners.

So I braved the crowds and dived head-first into one of my most hated activities. First up: shoes. I've been lusting after the idea of red sneakers (sneakers are about the only style of shoe I'll actually consider, even for work in an office building. I'm not going to cram my large, unlady like feet into a pointy-toed piece of leather, suffer through blisters and bunions, and walk like a pigeon to conform to some sort of pithy business "standard", no matter how unemployable that might make me), and lo and behold, red sneakers were what awaited me at the end of the ladies' sports footwear aisle. Unfortunately, much to my distress, I found that the largest size available was a nine, when I take a nine-and-a-half or a ten. Cue sobbing here. Whilst I didn't actually cry in the store, I wished for the first time that I owned a mobile phone so I could call my mother up and weep to her about the injustices of the world and the large feet that she, my father, and genetics inflicted upon me.

The unplanned-for purchase of a pair of fluffy, bright-yellow Tweety Bird scuff slippers helped take the edge off this post-red-shoe depression. On the practical side, I found a nice pair of black sneakers in the mens' shoewear section. They always make nice, big, practical shoes for men. Damn them to hell. Would it be so bad to mass-produce red sneakers for men?

Next, I had to buy items that would force me to face the torture chamber, otherwise known as the fitting rooms. I prefer to be able to look at myself wearing new clothes at a distance, not squashed up right next to a mirror underneath a fluorescent light which perfectly illuminates each and every dimple in my thighs. Unfortunately, I don't think KMart really cares what I prefer, or, for that matter, what the general public really wants, so I just put up with it and tried on my selections in turn: a red polar-fleece zip-up vest (which Nathan suggested, when he heard of my plans to perhaps buy one, would go nicely with a pair of oversized goggles, ala Kenny in "Can't Hardly Wait". Haha, not!); the same style vest only in black (both of these items were deemed so annoying and so unlike-me that they were immediately pushed off the "to buy" list); a pair of grey cargo pants (also annoying, and I'd rather not suffer the shame of feeling like I'd sold out in every conceivable way, so they also went back on the rack); a pair of suede-feel black pants, a size or three too big; and an olive-green velvety jumper, also too large. So I like clothes that make me look like I'm actually wearing a tent. So sue me.

Whilst hurrying to get in and out of said clothes in the shortest possible time, as I don't like prolonging my own mental anguish, an announcement came over the loudspeakers which amounted to "kindly get the hell out of our store, please, we're about to close in ten minutes". I had more shopping to do! How dare they! It was probably my own fault; I was languishing over shoes for about twenty minutes, when it really should have been a five minute job. I gathered up my intended purchases, and headed to the cash register - not before being distracted by what I told my sister were "big fat granny underpants", and a sweet marble-grey nightshirt with cartoony-like characters on the front. More random purchases. I figured by this time I deserved to buy something in the name of comfort, rather than outward appearances. Damn the need to have to go outside.

I must have stood in line for close to ten minutes waiting for the cashier to get through the hordes before me (okay, perhaps one or two people), and once she'd rung up my items, I almost had a heart-attack - $153 on clothes? What? Perhaps I should seriously consider a life of nudity. Really. Have you ever seen an unhappy nudist? I didn't think so. And they have more money to spend on pursuing healthful activities because they never need to go out and throw themselves on the mercy of mass-producing cheap-ass department stores like KMart.

Despite all of this, I came home unscathed, and these Tweety Bird slippers are mighty comfortable. I think the next time I go shopping I'll steel myself and buy as much stuff as I can afford in one sitting - because damn, I don't want to have to put myself through that on a regular basis.

Bah. I'm off to sleep and hopefully dream peaceful things that don't involve commerce or fitting cubicles.