Okay, confession time: I’m not a shopper. There, I said it. I feel like a new person…like I just came out of the (clothing) closet, so to speak.
It’s not so much that I hate it, because I like clothes and shoes and jewelry and…. The list is endless. But I’m just not good at shopping. Case in point: This weekend, my daughter said to me, “Mom, I need a coat.” Oughta be simple enough, right? Sure, for most people…for normal people. But here’s what I did.
First, I went to Old Navy, the safe bet for (pre)teenage girls and moms who like their clothing choices limited to identical sweaters and tops offered in eighteen different colors—with an array similarly-shaded yoga pants to go with them. Makes things simple that way. So I walked in. And saw poufy coats in every color of the rainbow, plus black (is black part of the rainbow?). But I wasn’t sure my girl would be all about the pouf, so I tried one on and discovered that the style—while somehow flattering on toddlers and the Michelin Man—is less than attractive on me. So I hung up the coat and walked around the store.
Where I stumbled upon the racks of yoga pants. In that one moment, it was almost as if the heavens parted and shone its glorious light on that round rack of black and pink and gray. Angels were singing. I was holding back grateful sobs. Because I am all about the yoga pant. And I didn’t own this particular type. Even better, they were on sale. And with Thanksgiving coming up, it seemed like a crime against gluttony not to buy a pair.
So I tried a few on and bought one—in black. Because we all know that black is slimming. And with the five pounds of turkey and stuffing and pies I plan to consume in one sitting (and then another sitting five or so hours later), slimming is the key word. So, armed with my oh-so-fashionable pants, I left the store.
Forgetting all about the coat.
My next stop was Target, where I bought an eight-dollar knit shirt. Then Victoria’s Secret, where I bought some sweatpants. Then to Gap, where I bought socks. Finally to Coldstone Creamery, where I bought a Like It-sized Snickers/chocolate/peanut butter mix that I consumed in about three bites.
Because I’m all about the food. And the knit. But not the pouf—because that’s just tacky.
But I still didn’t have a coat. Because by now, the subject had completely fled the recesses of my mind. By now, I’d moved on to movies, and to the fact that I wanted to watch one. So I hit a Red Box. And another one. But neither had my movie, and I really wanted to see this movie! And my weekend might be ruined if I didn’t get my hands on one. So to combat this dilemma, I drove to our local video store, where I discovered they had my movie…and a lock on my account because I owed about $2987 in fines from a movie I rented and never returned.
So I paid the fine, snatched my movie out of the money-grubbing lady’s hand, and walked out of the store. I was going home, where I was gonna watch that dang movie and drown my newly-poor sorrows in hot tea and a pint of Haagen Daaz.
I’m such a rebel.
Anyway, I made it all the way to the entrance of my neighborhood when my phone lit up from its spot in the cup holder. It was my daughter calling with a question. “So, did you buy me a coat?” And because my mind is a simple thing, I had just one familiar thought.
So I whipped my car around with the speed of a race-car driver…dodging small children and innocent puppies and terrified old people in my I-just-wanna-watch-a-movie rage. Okay, not really rage, but I like the way it makes me sound. So tough. So…fierce.
Did I mention I drive a minivan?
Anyway, ten minutes later, I pulled into the only place I could think of and walked inside. “Can I help you?” the salesman said. “Just looking for a coat,” I said. “Well, we have lots to choose from,” he said. And I smiled. And paid for a blue one that looked like all the others. And I took it home.
And it turns out my daughter is all about the pouf. In fact, she looks great in it. Thank goodness. Because I’m sooo done with shopping.
As soon as I exchange this coat. I bought the wrong size.