Yesterday I spent the day shopping. Although I’m not much of a shopper unless it’s for shoes – the success of my one dollar skirt pumped me up and I’ve been eager for another blissful shopping experience.
This shopping day was absolute horror. Not wanting to go to Sundance and mill about with wholes in the crotch of my jeans, I decided a new pair of pants to go with my miniskirt and a few shirts without stains were in order. Seven stores. Seven. Before I found a pair of jean that would fit my hips without either cutting off circulation to my feet or drowning me in swaths of fabric.
At Dillard’s I left the dressing room each time and dumped an armload of jeans back on the reshelf chair before going back to get different cuts and brands. Finally at the checkout after hours of feeling fat –tall-skinny-bloated and ever other miserable shopping emotion I stood at the counter to pay for my jeans. I was all but wiped out and ready for a nap. Part of the reason I hate shopping is because it’s so much freaking work.
Then I saw it, a display rack of Godiva chocolate bars next to the register. That’s got to be the best marketing scheme I’ve ever seen.
Women who feel broken down by the new sizing patterns, Women who feel fat after trying on dozens of pairs of low-rise jeans, Women who are forced to shop for clothing while bloated from their period – what other thing can you offer to help them cope with the fact that the mirrors in the dressing room are lighted with florescent bulbs and warped to make your hips look like you’re in a funhouse? CHOCOLATE!
It’s brilliant really. “Here, I know you’ve gained weight since the last time you went shopping, and I know these new fashions are so unflattering to a figure that’s not a size two – here, have some chocolate, and you’ll feel better in not time at all.”
At the register as I eyeballed the chocolate – going through an internal war with myself over whether it would make me feel better or not, the woman asked me if I wanted a Dillard’s card.
“No,” I said. “I’m just passing through.”
“Well, we have Dillard’s all over the place. You can always use your card – where are you from?”
“Portland.”
“We have several stores in Portland and Oregon.” She lifted her nose a little.
“I haven’t seen a single Dillard’s in Portland.”
I don’t know if it was a day of shopping that wore me out, or the fact that I was raging with myself over the nearby chocolate but her attitude was really rubbing me wrong.
“If you can find a Dillard’s in Portland I’ll get a card.” I said heavily.
She pulled out a list of stores from the drawer under the register. After perusing it for what felt like forever. She said, “This must be an old list. Let me call my manager.”
I shifted my weight while we waited for the manager to arrive with a new list, make a few phone calls and then page someone who joined us at the counter to announce – “No there aren’t any Dillard’s in the state of Oregon.”
I honestly can’t say why I sat there for all that. I really can’t other than I think shopping fried my brain. Maybe I just wanted to see her smug little face go slack before calmly asking if I needed anything else. I eyed the Godiva and sighed. It was a temporary fix.
“No thanks.” I replied.
The euphoria of finding my one dollar skirt was now completely evaporated. I still hate shopping, but now I have a pair of pants that don’t show my panties. YAY!
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