Shopping

I was talking to my dad the other day, and he said that he was looking at my pictures on Facebook, and he noticed that I wasn't wearing as many clothes as the other girls. At first, I thought this was a fatherly exhortation on modesty, and I was very confused. Then I realized that he was just telling me that I have stretched my native Floridian wardrobe long enough, and I needed to go shopping for things like coats and sweaters. Duly noted, Dad.

I've been trying to shop as much as I can during break. Right now I'm in Seattle (a friend from school invited me to her place), but before I left home (a word which here means "the place I live in Idaho"), my roommates and I exhausted Moscow's shopping possibilities.

And now, a bunch of stories about me shopping, because that is basically the only thing I've done all weekend.

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I went to Wal*Mart looking for a pair of black tights. Last time I wore my current pair, I felt my toes poking through them and decided that they were on their last leg. (Oh c'mon, that's clever...) The only tights Wal*Mart carried in my size were turquoise, tie-dyed, and sparkly. Um, no. I decided to mosey over to the girls' section, and I found the biggest size they make for girls. They were a dollar cheaper, too. When I tried them on at home, however, they were a bit too short. I was about to feel sad, but then a smile crept over my face because this is the first time I can ever remember being too tall for something to fit. I should shop in the kids' section more often. I think my self-esteem would improve.

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I was trying on shoes at Ross when I heard someone call their mom to come over and look at something. The woman replied, "Well, I'm trying to get over there, but Tara's blocking the whole aisle!" I looked at her stupidly, trying to figure out how she knew my name. I was getting ready to apologize profusely (this lady did not sound happy), when I realized that this woman's daughter was also named Tara, and she was blocking the aisle more than I was. Ha.

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I found fleece pants at Old Navy (which incidentally was the worst purchase ever, because I want to live in them, and part of me dies every time I have to take them off and put on real clothes). Anyway, my roommate and I were waiting in line for a dressing room. We waited, and waited, and waited. All seven dressing rooms full. The dressing room attendant, whom I will call "Nick," just because I don't want to type out "dressing room attendant" all the time, tried to join our conversation about how frustrating shopping for pants is. I told him that since he was a guy, he had no right to complain about pants shopping, because all he had to do was find his waist size and his inseam. He then told me that his problem was finding jeans that were loose enough to fit his thighs, because "people in Idaho think that everyone has chicken legs!" As fascinating as the conversation was becoming, I was happy when a little girl sauntered out of the dressing room. At last! But no. She was sharing the room with her mother, who was still trying on clothes. Seconds later, a woman walked out of a different room and shut the door behind her. Nick walked over and knocked to make sure it was vacant. A man responded that he was almost through. (??)

At least three or four more people wandered out of various rooms in the next few minutes. But all of the rooms were still occupied. It was ridiculous. Nick was as bewildered as we were. I was convinced that there were secret passages ways in all the rooms that people were wandering in and out of.

I got so bored just waiting, so I handed my clothes to my roommate and drew with chalk on the floor. I drew one flower, and ta-da, a room was open. Life lesson: always try to have fun while you're waiting, because the second you start to enjoy yourself, it'll be your turn. I abandoned my chalk art, and took my clothes from my roommate so that she could scamper into the room before anyone butted in line.

Nick offered to hold my clothes while I continued drawing with chalk, but I think I was scaring away the children who were legitimately enjoying the chalk corner, so I declined. Nick then remarked that "my friend" had run into the room so fast that he hadn't even gotten her name. Suspicious that he just wanted to get to know my gorgeous roommate, I asked if he always asked for people's names. He said, "Yeah, we're supposed to ask, and then write it on this white board, so that we can be like, 'Stacey, how's it going in there?' or 'Joe, we have the next size up!'" Then he snickered. "Or, 'Mary Lou!' Haha! I actually had someone named Mary Lou come in today. I was like...wow. Okaaaay."

I snickered along with him, but my snicker was a devious one. Later, when a dressing room was finally freed up for me, he turned to me and asked what my name was.

I told him it was Mary Lou.