Too tired for the gym again last night, but as I was leaving work I realized I won’t want to spend any time this weekend shopping so I might as well stop at the department store on the way home and try to pick up a few new necessities I need for hell week.
Necessities meaning panties, and a couple of blouses and maybe a skirt.
The other day as I was standing in the hall I said to a co-worker, “I really need to go shopping. I realized this morning that all but two of the shirts I wear for work have holes in them.”
My manager sighed aloud with her usual Athena-is-exasperating-me sigh, “Things not to say in the hallway where people can hear you, Athena.”
I shrugged. It’s not like I wear tattered clothing to work, I just hate shopping so bad that I’m inclined to wait until it literally can’t be ignored anymore. For example, running completely out of underwear because I keep throwing them away cuz they’re falling apart and I’d rather go commando that actually have to shop for new panties. I think I’ve mentioned that before.
Anywhoo, I told Admiral Fubar that I’d rather have an acid enema than go shopping. I’d rather change my own oil, mow the lawn or get a root canal. That is how much I enjoy shopping.
So, last night I’m too tired for the gym but think I can manage to cross a shopping thing off my list by pushing a cart. God! I forget, every freaking time how much energy it takes to shop. After an hour of trying things on I started to whimper like a toddler who needs a nap. The tank top that fit – I bought four of them so I won’t have to come back. The blouse that fit, I checked the size and grabbed three different blouses of similar shape but the same size assuming they will fit and damnit, it they don’t I don’t care. A pair of jeans, a set of flats and a workout shirt.
Then, the panties.
You’re not supposed to try on panties, you’re just supposed to know your size and just so you male readers know, panties sizes are not the same as dress, shirt or misses. They are a different sizing chart altogether, different numbers, and depending on the fabric and the brand, even those numbers are not standardized. I agonized over the possibilities, low blood sugar, low energy, and the prying curious eyes of a guy who was restocking the shelves nearby.
I must have put ten different pairs in the basket before putting them back on the shelves and picking new ones, putting those back and picking new ones – and so on and so on…
Finally, I realized that I was just too tired and hungry and that there was no possible way to win – so I literally – stuck my hand out, turned my head and picked a couple of pairs in the rack that may or may not be my size –then bolted for the register.
I was so delirious by the time I got home I justified it like this, “I can always take them back.” But I already know, that would mean going back into the store. I’ve concluded that making enough money to be able to employ a personal shopper would be in the best interest of my emotional and mental health. There is nothing so demoralizing to me than shopping with the new sizing charts, bad lighting, cramped dressing rooms, irritating noises and the smell of slightly dusty fabric that makes my nose run. I simply hate shopping. From now on I vow not to wait till the last freaking minute, and to do my shopping via the web.
And for the record, the panties are still in the bag. I haven’t even pulled them out to look, so, out of desperation I wore a pair of boy-shorts under my skirt today, and I have to say, underwear that’s cut sort like briefs for men – surprisingly comfortable….
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