I am not a complete woman: my shopping gene is curdled.
Though I’m a great enabler and will help friends shop until the cows come home, I don’t enjoy shopping for myself. It isn’t fun, and I don’t see it as a recreational activity. This is the main reason I wear my clothes until they fall apart. (If shown a photo from a decade ago, I am often wearing the exact same thing then as I am while looking at the photo presently. Capiche?) It’s pitiful, I know. But that’s just the way it goes.
The exception that proves my defective gene theory is my enjoyment of shopping about once a year. This particular desire pops up without warning, and can last anywhere from a day to a week. I don’t recall it ever lasting longer than that. And just because I actually go into boutiques and department stores during those jags, there’s no guarantee I’ll buy anything. There’s also no guarantee I’ll keep something I do buy. I am big on returns, as I just don’t see the point in having unused items taking up space in my life.
Anyhoo, I’m coming off one such period and had an interesting experience during an outing. I was at a gi-normous Macy’s, in the shoe department. At this particular store, ladies are serious, y’all. They are in full hunter mode and they will take you down if you get in their way. Not only are they armed with every conceivable form of payment, they are also strong, with hyper-fast reflexes. If they see someone with something they want, they will shadow their prey, hoping the coveted item will be placed aside or ignored long enough to be poached. They’re looking at merchandise, but they’re also looking at each other. I tell you all this in order to set the scene. I want you to understand that a gal can’t wander through that shoe safari unnoticed.
So there I was, casually seeing what was on sale. As is my wont, I had left the house soon after P90X-ing, and was wearing my ratty workout clothes. I wasn’t self-conscious about this, and didn’t think anything of it. In fact, all I thought was how comfortable I was and how much I was enjoying myself. I even thought about how nice and cool it was inside the store. Super cool. In fact, it felt a little too cool. That’s when I looked down and noticed my tank top had crawled up around my abdomen and my belly was just hanging out and greeting the world. I swear, I looked like a hillbilly reject.
What can you do in a situation like that? Not much. I pulled my top down, kept on trucking through the shoes, and pretended it never happened.
I have to admit though, I wish I were the type of gal who just didn’t give a flying flip. Because y’all, it really did feel nice and cool in that store, with my top pulled up.