Shopping

After a very prolonged delay, the pair of pants finally died. They went to their demise with nearly half a spool of hand-stitched thread, compliments of yours truly, three iron on patches, and several missing yards of the original thread that used to be around the heel. The center button was also missing, something I never bothered to replace, instead just using a belt to hold the entire defunct apparatus together. But at long last, despite my efforts to keep them on life support, a single bend-down-to-untie-my-shoe tore the hole that was in the knee into un-patchable proportions…and I sealed the deal, in minor frustration, by ripping the rest of the pants into pieces.

Why waste so much time keeping a single pair of pants alive? Because when they went, I’d have to replace them, and that would involve shopping for clothing– perhaps one of my absolutely least favorite activities. In fact, I don’t think the word favorite belongs anywhere near the term shopping, if I’m doing the talking, as I absolutely and positively despise shopping for clothing. I’d almost rather go to a local singles DJ bar on a busy saturday night…but alas.

Ok. Lets do this shit. Waist size? Check. Length? Check. Going to run in, grab the first pair of black pants that matches my very very common length and waist measurements, buy it immediately without bothering to try it on, and get the fuck out of there. We’ve done this before, and it usually works out…as long as you stick to the right numbers, you should be able to get out of there without wading into the eternal dress/undress/dress/undress/dress/undress HELL that is trying on clothing. Few deep breaths, and we’re off!

Amy Winehose is playing overhead in the department store, but there’s no words, just the music. The sort of empty gaping void where the singing should have been seemed terribly appropriate, for some reason. A woman popped out from behind some purses and assaulted me with my first can I help you find anything and I sort of made a quick, impatient, and somewhat frightened sounding NO before skirting past her, and picking up my pace. There was a crowd of fat people loitering around the base of the elevator, waiting to go up, at least one of which was an employee..so I didn’t even bother, and instead plowed through the stairwell doors without breaking stride. The stairs, however, had several fat people coming down them as well…nice and spread out like, and I slalomed up the stairs through them as quickly as possible on my toes alone.

Finally, I burst triumphantly through the fire door and into the third floor men’s department, scanning the perpetually fluctuating display ocean for the familiar dress pants rack. Far wall, about what I expected. Onward! Weaving through islands of atrocious clothing, and ignoring two more can I help you find anything‘s I finally made it to the standard black pants. At last. Half way to being out of here, all I need to do is grab a pair in my size. Yes…just the usual size. Lets see here….hmmm, come on, got to be here somewhere. Ten million pairs of pants, it would be statistically impossible for them to not have the size I want…..gotta be here. No.. not those, no… AH HERE WE G–wait, the numbers are inverted, sonofabitch. (five minutes later) OK!, the entire wall of fucking pants is completely devoid of my size. SWELL. And now I’m beginning to get irritated. Can I help you find anything, sir? No, I’m FINE. FUCK OFF.

For the next HOUR I became a one man circular parade, taking random slightly-off sized pants into the dressing room, trying them on, realizing they don’t fit just right at all, and taking them back to repeat. Dress/undress/dress/undress/dress/undress/dress…because no matter what you do in that dressing room, the clothes are never going to look right. All of them oddly wrinkled, covered with bells, whistles, stickers, acupuncture torture devices that JAB into your waist at the worst possible place (something I just don’t understand, the things are pointy and point inward, with a flat piece on the outside, why not the other way around?). Finally, I had had it, and tossed yet another worthless pair of uncomfortable pants in the dressing room corner as I calmly, but warmly, walked back to the pants rack, violently shoving them around and mangling them in desperation, just trying to find ONE PAIR that would be my size, that I wouldn’t have to try on. Hell, at that point I was ready to take NAVY, and just pretend it was black. It was then that I noticed the pair that was in my size, black, staring me in the face the entire time. Oh, you idiot! I proclaimed, sitting right here the entire time! The woman who had already asked me several times if she could help me find anything was nearby, and heard me. Found them, eh? Should have let me help you when I asked..

If looks could kill.