Eighteen and Crunchy
I hate shopping. Especially at stores like *shudder* Wal-Mart. Today my mother drug my brothers and me all the way into town. That’s about thirty five minutes. I first checked to see if ANYTHING was made in the US. Once I realized that nothing was I grabbed a couple pairs of jeans in size nine.
Now, I’m not a huge person. I weight about 140 pounds and I’m 5′ 8″. Normally I’m confident in my body. But when I got into the dressing room, with the giant mirror, nothing fit. The nines were too tight and the medium tank tops weren’t stretching in a flattering way. I sighed and went to find some larges and tens. I couldn’t find any tens. I was browsing through the racks remembering when this was all so much easier. I wondered why it all mattered so much. At one point I totally bought into commercialism and a jaunt into a superstore didn’t make me uncomfortable. Once upon a time I would have just bought the nines and felt sexy (or as sexy as a middle-schooler would have, I guess).
I eventually settled on a pair of size eleven grey skinny cargo pants. They had zippers on the pockets and that made me feel a little like a bad-a** but, mostly, just bad. Just because I was buying stuff from Wal-Mart. I would much rather shop at the thrift store where I feel like I’m making a good economic choice for me.
On the up side I bought some reusable silicone muffin tins. They’re a great alternative to the paper and metal ones.
Once we left Wal-Mart we headed next door to Lowes. While my mom debated about surge protectors I went and found myself an aloe plant. The sap is great on burns and, apparently, works for facials. I got ‘the look’ as I carried it back to the cart. ‘The look’ is the side glance, the double take, that happens when someone can’t process my clothes (I think today, the fuchsia floor-length skirt was the biggest contributor.) or purchases or just my general uniqueness.
Does anybody else have days like these?