On the Misery of Shopping
Only those of us who loathe shopping can understand the miseries that accompany stepping into a store. The dreading, the delaying until there is no alternative, the staring at the closet hoping that, really, the Chico’s outfit purchased ten years ago can make it to just one more function.
So, triple that feeling when you must shop with someone else, someone who says that he really needs you there – to help him choose a navy blue blazer, which he has just decided is necessary for his existence as a functioning human being. This, despite my pointing out that he has a perfectly serviceable one upstairs, ensconced in a not-looked-upon-in-five-years garment bag. No, that would not do. A new navy jacket it had to be, with requisite brass buttons.
Can you feel my pain?
When we arrived at the haberdashery (I know when a battle is lost before it begins), he was shocked to find that “sizes are not the same anymore.” This he determined because the jacket in his chosen size would not button.
“I know,” I commiserated. “I find that all the time.”
When the salesperson brought out a jacket that did button, I noted the term “portly” on the label, and wisely did not point this out to the person trying it on. “That looks good,” I said. “Let’s buy it and go.”
Quelle blague. While I would have been in my car well on my way home, thankful that it would be a long, long time before I darkened the door of a store again, when I looked around, there he was – looking at shirts – he bought two; looking at socks – he bought six pairs; and, can it get any worse? – heading to riffle through the stacks of jeans. And these he tried on, and while I waited it came to me that my experience possibly would make a good blog.
He bought two pairs of jeans, and I wrote this.
www.cynthiastrauff.com, Another Sunday