I was trying on dress pants yesterday when suddenly I was transported back to fifth grade when all I wanted was a pair of what my friends and I called elephant pants but what the women's clothing industry now calls wide-leg pants and I would like to call pants that make me look like I have tree stumps for legs. These pant-legs would be handy if I wanted to smuggle an actual elephant through airport security but since smuggling elephants forms no part of my daily routine, I'll give them a pass.
And why so many colorful plastic fabrics? Half of the blouses I looked at could have been constructed by a fourth-grader equipped with a box of Hefty trash bags, some permanent markers, a glue stick, and some sequins. Linen is out because I don't care to iron, but I'd really love to see some fabrics that don't look like they were extruded by machines oozing chemical goo.
The other day someone suggested that I pursue a certain administrative position but I demurred with I don't have the wardrobe for it, to which the person replied But you'd get paid enough to cover a new wardrobe, which is yet another reason to avoid higher office. Who wants to shop? Shopping is horrible. Yesterday I tried on eleventy-seven different items but ended up buying three, and the process took forever because the cashier asked for my name and email address but then could not spell either one correctly (no, the u comes after the g, and Marietta has one r and two t's) and I was so exhausted from trying on horrible wide-leg pants and Hefty-bag blouses that I lacked the energy to resist her queries. The person waiting in line behind me kept sighing deeply but I'm not going to apologize for having a name no one knows how to spell. I mean, if the cashier doesn't want to make the effort to spell my name correctly, why even ask? Just take my money and let me leave.
Can't run too far in those wide-leg pants, though. They trip me up every time.
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