Why I Hate Shopping

For the last three days I've done something rather uncharacteristic of me: I went shopping.

The thing is, I hate shopping. And really all three days reinforced that fact. Strike that. The first day wasn't so bad--Little can go wrong when you only need cat food, granola bars, diapers, hamburger meat, and a few other odds and ends AND you are blessed with a "kid-free" trip to boot (thank you Pa-pa!). Although, I did need to visit three different stores to fulfill all of my shopping needs--partly due to Chestter's dietary needs. *sigh*

Day two--mall day--proved to be a typically Val shopping experience. Number one, I forgot the stroller. Have you ever mall-walked while balancing a wiggling 20 pound weight? Try it sometime. Still, this was an obstacle that would not slow me down.

I was looking for several things: 1) Sales. 2) Kidlet clothes--All of the "gifted" clothes that came at birth and special holidays are quickly running out. Turns out nobody really cares if your 12-18 month old is outfitted, since the smaller stuff is so much more fun to buy (I agree!). 3) Mommy clothes: My disjointed half in Washington/half in Illinois wardrobe has been getting on my nerves. Plus I've had moments lately of wanting to look like a girl and not like Queen Frumpy (long may she reign!).

The kidlet scored, but not as well as I'd hoped. I did manage to find a winter coat for next year, a solid red onesie, and a sweet little summer outfit. But I was going for more... Furthermore, I found myself incessently frustrated by my blindness to the 18 month clothes. Perhaps it's because it's a transitional age. Perhaps I'm just blind. Perhaps it's an unwritten rule that children should be allowed to go naked at this age. Perhaps no one told me that from 12 mos. you are just supposed to skip straight up to the reputable 2T size. I'm not sure. But I couldn't find what I thought I wanted to find on the size tags.

Mommy had some success, but not a lot. The good news is, after looking for the past five months for a pair of nice black casualish shoes, I finally found some. I was able to fit my post-pregnancy gargantuan feet into Fashion Bug's idea of a size 10. And I found exactly the style I had in mind. I spied some cute socks as well, briefly noted that they were short, but thought they would do. I continued looking for clothes clothes.

Now the problem with me is, I really just don't know how to dress. I kind of know what I would like to look like, but the stores don't seem to think that that is styling enough. I see things that I think I might like, but realize I don't know how to wear them. I see things that I do like and try them on and find that apparently I have an oddly shaped body altogether. My calves don't look right. My torso is too long... (or something), my proportions just don't seem to be *normal* enough to make shopping easy. This was the case in store after store after store.

Add to the fact any body image issue that you can imagine a woman dealing with--times 3. Really. Shopping becomes hell. I can start in a perfectly happy mood and it will plummet with all of the aforementioned difficulties plus the sneaking suspicion that people *my* size apparently don't deserve fun clothes. (And yes, damn it I AM being proactive about that facet of my life!).

And as a little note--trying things on with a busy 11 month old is always a treat. But what's a girl to do?

So I came home pleased with my shoes and cute socks. But... altogether grouchy and upset that I could find NOTHING else and Queen Frumpy would not be allowed to take a hiatus.

Day 3: Farm King. (Yes really).

Today was actually my most successful shopping day, thanks to the wonder that is Farm King. I needed my oil changed. I was advised that it was going to take 30-45 minutes. What else was I going to do while I waited? I shopped, despite my repeated lack of stroller.

I've been needing a pair of jeans, and one thing I have discovered: Farm King might not have the trendiest styles of jeans around, but they usually come through. Off I go to shop for the jeans. I pick up two pair that look doable, after the typical frustrating search, "wrong size. right style. grrr" "Right size. Wrong style. Grrr." (For the record I REFUSE to wear anything "tapered").

I went to try both pairs on and found to my delight that the "smaller" size actually fit pretty darn well. The "larger" size was a more fun style, and I thought the size was doable since I couldn't find it in the smaller size. I decided on both. I carried them around. Walked over to toys. Found a toy that wasn't exhorbitantly priced, or sillily over-rated for Carolyn. Found a book that looked fun for Carolyn. Turned a corner to beverages and saw a true wonder: JONES SODA!!!!! In many different varieties! I just had to get Jones Soda. So get some I did. This move, at least, was a good one.

Back to the clothes. I see a nice sale on jeans! Score! I pick up a pair on clearance because of a small defect. I put back one of the other pairs. I smile happily to myself that I have been so shrewd in my shopping, and they finally call my name indicating that the oil has indeed been changed in my little flamed neon.

I forgot to mention that for the entire wait and shopping experience my daughter was getting more and more fussy. During my journey to the fitting room, she felt utterly bereft when I sat her on the floor leaving her only my discarded skirt for comfort. The rest of the time, suffice it to say, there was much crying and wiggling.

So... I came home. I tried on the jeans again. Fun jeans are indeed *TOO BIG* In fact, they don't look fun at all... They just look like a pair of jeans that "Queen Frumpy" would wear. Guess I fooled myself in the fitting room. Pair #2: The sale jeans were the WRONG STYLE (tapered leg *shudder*) and TOO SHORT. Another two points to my shopping blindness and misproportioned body. They can't be taken back. I try on the socks from yesterday. The shortness is irritating.

So you see: Even those things that I do find and think I will be happy with, lead to buyers remorse. Whoever coined the phrase, "Retail Therapy" was obviously a masochist. Or... at least... wasn't ME.

So... I played with Carolyn's toy, and drank a Jone's Soda. That made me feel better.

Have I mentioned that I hate shopping?

For the record, I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with this post about shopping either. I may need to change it. We'll see.