Shopping ; (

I.

Hate.

Shopping.

No, for real, I am a Jewish girl that simply loathes everything about shopping. Of course sometimes it cannot be avoided. Like the day of a special event, for instance. I am famous for going out around noon before a party and looking for something to wear. Not just shoes, or pantyhose, the whole outfit. Yesterday was no different.

I started at a local boutique in hopes of not having to venture to the dreaded mall on a Saturday. I walked in, tried to act nonchalant and then there she was; the ‘Personal Attention Saleswoman’. Now, I know this is the basic reason why many women shop in this kind of store. I walked in and the PAS was on me in a second. “Can I help you? What are you looking for? What kind of event? Might I suggest…” yadayadayada, to the point where I am ready to scratch my own eyes out. Yes, you guessed it.

I.

Hate.

Personal Assistance.

I feel bad because she really was lovely. But, she was wearing both a blouse and jeans that were 2 sizes too small for her. Her cleavage was actually screaming at me as she adjusted the top I tried on. Oh, sweetheart, BACK OFF. I seriously don’t do the adjustment thing. Did she not know about my personal space issue?

The thing is, I have lived in this body for a long time. I am fully aware of what works and what doesn’t. So PLEASE, stop telling me how great this will look on me when I already know it is a ‘no can do outfit.’ Ok, so one armload of nothing looks good on me, this is all to expensive, no I will not try these on with 6 inch stiletto heels, I do not dress like a cheap hooker kind of exercise and I was in the dressing room, sweating, trying to figure out how I could make a beeline for the door ASAP.

Out of that place and on to the mall where I started to freak out almost immediately. There must have been some sort of Disney event going on and at least 60% of the people in the mall were wearing mouse-ka-ears. No joke. First I passed an old women with a walker, then a baby in a stroller, then an entire family wearing these things. Proudly! Gary has called me Amy Mouse for years after seeing pictures of me as a young girl. Ok, maybe I was a little mouse-like. I was convinced that perhaps no one was actually wearing these ears, but in fact, I had finally snapped and was hallucinating.

At one point I was in a dressing room trying to get into one of those tops that has the drapey overthing with an attached tank top and I was stuck in it like a straight jacket. (hey, if the straight jacket fits…) I was fearful that I would never get out of that thing and was a minute away from calling for assistance.

You will be happy to find out that after what seemed like many hours I did come up with a skirt I loved and made it work with existing wardrobe items.

Now if I can only get rid of this recurring dream about Mickey Mouse in stiletto heels.

Haven’t had enough of me yet? You can also read me at 50-Something Moms Blog. For photo enthusiasts, visitLeaving the zip code, photos from outside the comfort zone.

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