Yet Another Reason I Should Not Shop Unsupervised...

I am not a shopper. I don’t like to shop. For whatever reason, I just never inherited that gene that seems to be somewhat inherent in the female half of our species. And when I say I don’t like to shop, I mean, AT ALL. Not clothes, cars, furniture, food… nothing.

Today, resigned by the need of a few household items and some personal essentials, I braved a trip to Shopko, chosen for no other reason than it’s proximity to my parents’ house, and the fact that I can get there by traversing but a single traffic light, if I take the back way.

I made it to my consumer destination, list in hand, firm grip on my pocket book. It occurred to me to find someone to go with me, but I just didn’t have the energy to make the calls. Thankfully, a friend of mine broke some of the monotony by texting me as I roamed the aisles, distracting me with a conversation about his latest stalker.
Anyway, I was feeling pretty good about the effort. I found a pair of shoes for a business event later this month. I managed to uncover the location of electrical outlet covers without any assistance. No problems at all finding a little lip gloss.

Things got a little more complicated while looking for the mascara. First, it was apparently the afterschool shopping hour, as I had to make my way through a dozen giggling 'tweens and teens who were all agog at the great sale prices on electric blue eye shadow and lime green lipstick.

I finally found the plain old Cover Girl section and grabbed my standard tube of mascara. One of the young girls looked at the mascara in my hand, looked at my face, and boldly said, “Why are you buying that? You barely have any eyelashes!”

For a moment, I thought about explaining to her the whole notion of using it on the fake eyelashes I’ve procured, as a means of giving them a more natural look. As I studied the young girl’s face, shellacked with a few layers of foundation, half a tube of eyeliner, and enough glitter to light Las Vegas, and realized that she probably hadn’t quite garnered the meaning of “natural” yet.

I smiled at her and said, “Sweetie, it’s probably about the same reason as why you wear a bra. Even old ladies like me seek to be comfortable and secure while we wait for our hopes and dreams to manifest!”

Awkward as that all was, the crew of girls gave me a rather wide berth to exit the cosmetics section. Next on my list was finding a camisole and some underwear. Camisole wasn’t too hard, other than having to try on two, since I seem to constantly be between sizes these days.

Underwear was the place where I unwittingly hung myself out to dry. I’m down another size, which I’m surely not gonna complain about. Faced with too many choices in undergarments, I considered what was really important, ultimately deciding that getting comfortably and economically to yet another downward size was probably my most reasonable goal.

Having lost some 70 pounds since the beginning of the year, I have a lot more choices than just the standard granny-panty fare. Noting a sale rack of underthings, I took a look. All of garments on the rack were, in my estimation, rather ugly. They were, however, at a fabulous price. I decided that wearing ugly underpants was really a great incentive to get down to the next size in short order, and it’s not like anyone’s gonna see them, right? So I grabbed myself three pairs and headed to the cashier.

It was not until I got home, that I realized something dreadful about the purchase. As I entered the driveway, I was met with a deluge of rain, thunder and lightning. While unloading the booty from the trip, the lights began to flicker. Finally, as if tired of trying, the lights just went out. That’s when I noticed. The new ugly underwear casually strewn across my bed were GLOWING. How did I manage to get out of the store without noticing this key feature?

Why would I want glow in the dark underwear? It’s not like I can’t find my nether regions on my own. Just to make things interesting? I have no hair, for Pete’s sake. There’s a lot more things interesting about me right now than glowing undergarments. One of my girlfriends has boldly suggested that perhaps it will be helpful in directing traffic. Seriously? Do I really want to meet anyone—let alone find out intimately!—who needs that much assistance to find the family jewels???

This has left me with yet another conundrum. I want to take them back. I do. But I don’t want to have to face someone in a retail setting with the reality that I do not have the smarts to buy lowkey underwear on my own.

So, if you notice me glowing these days, say nothing. Just assume it’s me, taking yet another of life’s strange events in stride.