Day two of the "I've got to go be smart and professional because like a moron I signed up for a workshop" shopping continues apace. Just when I thought I was closing in (comfy/cute sandals? check. Cute tank top? check.), the workshop leader sent around a friendly email informing us that we might want to bring our own equipment, or else share the communal ones. Share. As if. Additional trip to Target? Check.
I've been busily trying to convince myself that I do indeed have enough t-shirts that are passable (i.e., not stained, misshapen, or tent-like). If I'd do an actual inventory, I think I'd be fine. But even as I talked myself out of an "emergency" trip to Old Navy, I had to swing by the salon to pick up shampoo, and I notice that I'm running low on eyeliner and skin care products, both of which I get online (at Sephora and Skinstore, respectively), and there's just no time left for stuff to show up. Note to self: if you have to order online, you have to start sooner
. And not on a holiday weekend. Damn. Has anyone ever ordered stuff delivered to her at a hotel?
Okay, so here's the totally cursed part. And it was so cursed, please pronounce it with two syllables: as in curse-ed. So, first I go to JCrew, the blood-sucking flagship of prep casual--i.e., what I plan to be rocking at this damn summer event. All I want is a pair of capri pants. Simple right? Nooooo! Clearly, if you're a mass-market store that's all full of itself, you think it's your god-given duty to put spandex in your capris. WTF?!! Is it suddenly 1986 and no one informed me? But dammit, I'm desperate. If my choice is between capris with 3% spandex and wearing shorts in front of my peers, then spandex it is. And so I'm going to spend the next two weeks of my life trying to hide the panty lines that the synthetic devil clings to so determinedly. Crap.
The joke, of course, is that I thought that the above
was going to be my story of shopping cursedness. But NO. Because, like a total jackass, I was at the mall, rotten capri pants in hand, and I thought: wow, I really need to stock up on underwear before I leave. What's the phrase you LEAST want to hear while pawing through panties at the major skanky chain store with the famous "fashion" show? Think carefully. Mine, based on recent experience is: "Hi Professor Fluff! How's your summer?" Bugger.
Do I manage my fear of new situations and crushing inability to converse with people via shopping? You bet. But if this is the way it's going to go, I might as well go for the good meds.
Labels: shopping, TMI