I hate shopping for myself. I love shopping for the kids — in part because I can still force the little one into whatever I think looks adorable. And because it doesn’t involve me having to try on a million sweaters or pairs of jeans. I’d much rather shop online for myself but that doesn’t always work out with all of the different brands and their ridiculous differences in sizing. When you add in my height, well, it’s a recipe for disaster.
I finally broke down and went shopping for jeans this week, but only because one of my very few pairs split at the knee and I’m not really into the whole distressed jean thing. In my head I heard my dad saying, “boy, they sure don’t make things like they used to.” But in reality, they were about eight years old, which is a pretty good life for a pair of jeans.
Shopping for jeans is actually quite a production for me. I have to give myself a pep-talk before I even go in the store. There are only a few stores in my price range that have the jeans in the size and length I need. Unfortunately, those stores’ employees work mostly on commission so they attach to me like Piranhas as soon as I step into the store.
My husband was no help either. I walked in, and immediately someone asks if they can help me find something.
“I need one pair of plain boot-cut jeans, 28×35,” I said.
I figured by asking for plain jeans there was little chance of them shoving 20 pairs at me telling me to try them on since most of their jeans have something on them and are definitely not plain. She hands me one pair and shows me to the dressing room. I thought, great, one pair and I’m in and out. But while I was trying on that one pair, she flings several more pairs over the dressing room door, which weren’t even the size I asked for. I think she was trying to keep me busy until she could find other pairs that were my size. I escaped the dressing room only to find that my husband was looking at sweaters and told me I should get the one he was holding.
“Fine!” I said, snatching the sweater out of his hand. Back into the dressing room I went. And it wasn’t two seconds later that 10 more sweaters appeared over the top of the dressing room door. The girl said she’d be back with more sweaters so I flung the one I was trying on over my head and left the dressing room before I was trapped in there for good.
And that’s when I decided that I would rather take a gamble with online shopping.