Why I Should Not Shop Unsupervised, Part II

MEN: Be warned, this blog post contains content that may not be suitable for you. Feel free to return to your Giants victory celebration. It may be safer for your tender souls.


Ladies, I know you’ll get what I’m saying here.

Yesterday, I shopped. Til I dropped. Y’all know by now I’m not much of a shopper. I put it off and put it off until I can’t put it off any more. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like spending money. I don’t really like all the dickering, though I’m pretty good at it. I am THE fashion disaster of all fashion disasters. Some say I am the reason there is an army of fashion police combing the streets. 

But despite all these dangers for myself and others, I could delay no longer. I need new technology for work. My shelf in the pantry is looking pretty bare. The seasons have changed, and I need warmer clothes.

The Geeks at Best Buy got me rolling seamlessly into a purchase of a new Toshiba Netbook. At the sake of sounding old and codgerly, I couldn’t help but recall how my first computer took two trips into the house—hulking monitor, behemoth CPU, keyboard, box of cords. And this didn’t even count that cutting-edge dot matrix printer that could actually do ‘alternate fonts’.

Now, for a third of what I paid back then for that set up, I have a computer with about 100 times the memory, 50 times the speed, internet capability, and that practically fits in the palm of my hand.

It, an external DVD drive and all the cords, fit in a case barely the size of a hardback novel. Crazy.

The weirdest shopping experience today was in Target. I have discovered a couple things with the changing of the weather. First, I am still living with my parents. While I didn’t have a hard date in mind, I apparently did not intend on being here beyond the shorts-and-tank-top phase of summer, since I left all my warmer attire in my storage unit. Second, upon going to said storage unit, I discovered I have lost A LOT of weight since I last wore cool weather clothes. Nothing fits.

In Target, out of sheer habit, fueled by the voice of Big Fatty Girl who somehow mistakenly thinks she’s still part of my existence, I was drawn directly to the boulder-sized bra section. As in times past, this was a chore that lacked any kind of joie de vivre whatsoever. I hastily grabbed several freak-show sized bras and went to try them on.

Now, one would think that a woman as smart a myself would have figured this one out on the first try. But no, FOUR BRAS LATER, it finally dawned on me: these bras are too big. Why this flummoxed me so, I don’t quite know. Dazed, confused, and dreading another round of finding things on racks, I dragged myself back out to the floor to find something that would fit. Turns out, I am now an owner of breasts that fit in bras in the ‘normal size’ section of the store. It was sort of like Christmas and the 4th of July all in one. There were so many! Colors, sizes, textures, holy cow. And match sets.

Match sets of underwear. I’ve seen them before. I’ve just never bought them. Form and function over frivolity has always been my notion in the undergarment department. And seriously, most of my life, I’ve been a big-to-huge girl. And a single parent. The “Dear Lord Let This Bra Hold The Girls Up All Day and Through the Kids' Christmas Pageant Tonight” kind of undergarments don’t generally come in feminine match sets.

This day, I looked at them. I touched them. I pondered. Ultimately, I decided to purchase a bra and panty set. For me. With no guilt. No regrets.

It was so fun, I grabbed a few more sets. And then found a manager to give me a discount. Yep. Not only do I own ‘normal,’ matching intimates, I own them at 15% off the retail price.

I feel like Wonder Woman. If you see me coming, you might want to look out. I may be matching. And in these moments when I like myself so well, there's just no telling what this woman might do!