All The Snaudrey That's Fit To Print.

Shopping Venture

How is it that my life seems too busy to be able to blog, and yet at the same time, too boring to have anything to blog about...

So Feb. 28th I woke with a sore throat. March 1st I went to the Dr. It's almost like going to a favourite diner and ordering up "the usual." Not that I go to the doctor very often, or enjoy it as much as a "favourite" anything, but almost every time, it's the same. Strep throat. Prescription written, thank you very much...off I go.

I made one stop before the pharmacy. I was feeling rotten, and knew I'd be down & out for a bit, so there was only one stop more urgent. Blockbuster. I carefully spent my last few ounces of energy selecting half a dozen award-winning titles to take home. Coming out with my rentals, the end was in sight. I just had to pick up my pills, and then home to pj's & popsicles. But there was a slight uneveness of the sidewalk, which brought me down with such lack of grace...before I knew i was tripping, I was down. I looked at my palm and saw bits of dirt & rock embedded in the now bloody surface. I looked further down and to much further dismay found that my ONLY pair of "presentable" jeans (without rips) were no longer so. And I'm now required to go home, clean up, change my clothes and go BACK out to get my prescription. Arrgghh.

It was not my day. March 1st was also my first day with a brand new supervisor, whom I'd not yet met. So my first conversation with said new supervisor is me calling in sick. Love that.

If you thought that was the story, it's not. It's quite lame on it's own. Not that I can promise what follows will NOT be lame, but that was just the precursor. So we'll fast forward nearly two weeks. I get healthy, yaddiyaddiyaddah. Go to work, come home, repeat. All the while, I'm still needing some new jeans. And shoes, because the shoes I'm currently wearing to work do not have a 1.5" heel, and therefore are a violation of the dress code. My career has not yet come crashing down, but I'm not wanting to push it. So March 12 was the first juncture at which shopping was made possible by simulaneously having the time, energy and cash (aka the Axis of Evil). Paulette said she could use some jeans too. So off we went.

First stop, Costco. Mostly because she had a return to make, so we might as well look while we're there. I find nothing. She, on the other hand, finds a fun pair of beige pants that work well. I think about picking up some other less-exciting-than-clothing items, but decide against it and end up at the cash empty-handed. That's okay. The night is young.

Paulette 1.
Audrey 0.

Second stop, Old Navy. Now I don't go to Old Navy all that often, but have found it to be very fruitful when I do, so this was exciting. Costco was kinda like pre-game.

We get to the jeans section, and it's on. Both of us are pulling multiple pairs from the shelf to try. As I'm looking, I notice on the endcap a cute canvas purse. I look for a moment, but then tell myself that I don't NEED a purse, but I do NEED jeans, and I'm on a mission, so I cannot get sidetracked. But I really like it and make a mental note to consider coming back for it once other more-urgent matters are taken care of.

My focus is promptly back on the jeans. But as i'm pulling different ones to try, I'm noticing that Paulette's pulled some of the same. So I kinda go off on her about how we CANNOT buy the exact same pair of jeans because we are seen so frequently together, it would no doubt be noticed on multiple occassions that we were wearing the same clothes, and that's just not something I'm going to take lying down. I also inform her (as a side note but because I thought of it in that instant and felt it was something important to establish then and there) that the day she and her husband start to wear matching jackets/tracksuits, etc, is the day we can no longer be friends. Fortunately, I don't think either one even own one tracksuit, so it does not seem imminent.

We decide that it's best to first take our selections to the change room to see how things work out, and then cross bridges as we get to them. Come what may, if you will.

As we work our way toward the change rooms, I notice something in her hands that is not a pair of jeans. It's a cute canvas purse. No FREAKIN' way! But I hadn't even verbalized my affinity for said purse, so "I saw it first" would ring empty. We have a discussion regarding the purse. She offers to let me have the purse. But I know that this would in fact ruin the joy of the purse, because the cuteness would no longer be seen through the guilt every time I looked at it, knowing that she wanted it enough to take it from the shelf, and I then took it from her. She shrugs her shoulders, "Okay." Apparently, she has no such guilt issues. I briefly consider the same purse in a different colour, but that would be just like having the same pair of jeans in a different size.

So many dimensions contribute to the fit of a pair of jeans...waist, hips, butt, thighs...and each pair I try is wanting in one area or another. Paulette has at least a couple of jeans that fit well and she could purchase, but she leaves behind with casual indifference. The one pair that is close to passable for me is about 2 inches too long. They could be hemmed, but that's a pain, and they weren't on sale. So back to the rack they go. I'm starting to get frustrated with this endeavour.

So we both try on a few tops, none of which are satisfactory for either of us. As a $7 consolation purchase, I decide to pick up a package of underwear. After I have a brief discussion with P regarding the difference between camo and commando, we are at the cash and out the door.

Paulette 2.
Audrey 1. (and a cheap one at that, like a run scored because the pitcher walked a batter with the bases loaded)

It's now 8:47. Payless Shoes is just down the street, and we decide we have time for a quick perusal before they close at 9. I'm regrouping, thinking that maybe it's just not my night for jeans, but it is for shoes. I want something plain, something black, something with a moderate heel. Something practical, functional, & inexpensive.

We enter the store. I make my way to the size 6 aisle, and she to the 8's. It takes me all of 42 seconds to see that they have NOTHING close to what I'm looking for. Paulette, on the other hand, I can hear cooing over a pair she is trying on. I turn the corner and see her wearing THE shoes. The ones mentioned above that are plain, black, practical, functional, inexpensive with a moderate heel. In a size 8. This shopping trip is starting to feel like a 1996 Alanis Morrissette song.

So I find myself another consolation purchase. A $5 pair of pink furry slippers that need to be seen to be believed. Slippers that are fun, but slippers that I cannot wear to work. The clerk tells me that they do have the same pair of shoes that Paulette is purchasing in size 6, but they're brown. However, I already have a pair of plain, practical, inexpensive BROWN shoes with a moderate heel. If I purchased another pair, my brown shoes would outnumber my brown pants.

Paulette 3.
Audrey 2. Barely.

It's 9 pm. Shopping options are narrowed to Superstore & Wal-Mart (or as Gram would say, Wal-Mark). I know there's a few things I can pick up at Superstore that I'm needing. And I'm convinced that it would be successful, given that it is mostly jugs of water and toilet bowl cleaner that I'm looking to get there. But then Paulette tells me that she had purchased a crazy-cheap 4-pack of toilet bowl cleaner on her penultimate visit to Costco, and I am welcome to have one. Do we go buy water and go home? Nope. Let's go to Wally's. I'm swinging for the fences.

As we pull into the parking space, Paulette is looking for something in her purse. I jump out and make a mad dash into the store, determined to get a head start. When she catches up with me inside, she assures me that she is done shopping for herself, and she is there purely to ASSIST me. Right-o.

So we head straight to the shoes and find two slightly different styles of shoes, both of which meet my criteria. One pair is available one half size too small. The other is available one half size too large. I must admit, my ambition is withering. I'm starting to sense that some cosmic shopping force is displeased with me and working against my every attempt to lighten my wallet.

I head to the clothing section, with my "assistant". As we browse, I make conversation telling her about how Jenn & I would sometimes scan the clothing section of Wal-Mark, looking only for the $3 clearance racks, and what treasures we would sometimes find there. Not many minutes later, I find myself alone, digging through disheveled piles of denim. Then, Paulette reappears, a wide smile, and 5 or so pairs of jeans draped over her arm that are HER size, not mine. The other arm is holding up a cute grey shirt, again HER size. "Three dollar rack." she says. I'm counting backwards from ten and breathing deeply. Why did I bring her?

We head to the change rooms, once again. As we are being shown to our respective rooms, I notice a sign on one of the doors that says "Out of Order". I glance at P and she's mirroring my incredulous look... "What the..." How in the world can a FITTING ROOM be OUT OF ORDER?!?!? There are hooks, mirrors, a stool, and a door. Not much opportunity for malfunction. Did someone have a violent reaction upon discovering just how their butt looked in the $10 capris and take it out on the truthful but undeserving mirror?

I guess it indeed is always darkest before dawn. As I try on the jeans, it is now clear that the cosmic shopping force wanted only to teach me delayed gratification. I have to CHOOSE which ones to take, and I select my favourite two. Meaning I am leaving some there that I COULD purchase. Such an abundance, unexpected.

Of course, Paulette's $3 shirt looks great, especially with the yet another pair of pants that she's taking home. Some seem to live in perpetual harvest. But in my contentment, I no longer begrudge her success.

On our way out, I pick up an FM tuner for my CD player (my TAPE DECK in my car just died. Plus, I'm thinking about getting an ipod once Canada Revenue Agency soon returns what is rightfully mine...). Paulette grabs a lint-roller and Easter candy. We chat with a friend we see at the check out, and then we head home.

Paulette 7.
Audrey 5.

But who's counting, right?

posted by sibbie751 @ 1:13 a.m.