I’ve just spent the last four hours shopping for clothes and shoes.
I hate shopping with a blind, feiry passion.
For the record, a women’s size 11 shoe is a men’s size 9, so after spending three hours looking for a fucking decent pair of women’s shoes that I wouldn’t fall over in and repeatedly getting told that all of the attractive shoes you actually like aren’t available in your size, go to Nordstrom Rack and get a cool pair of shoes much like the ones Yellow wears for a reasonable price… (“Y’know Yellow, you’re real cute, but your shoes are fucking *hot*”).
Finding a pair of khaki pants was just the sort of ordeal I assumed it would be, and I spent an inordinate amount of time in Eddie Bauer with some incredibly helpful sales people who did really seem abashed that they didn’t carry the size and cut pants I wanted in a tall.
Also, that suede jacket you’ve been wanting to buy your whole life but couldn’t justify the expense to get? Today’s the day to get it. Not as butch as a leather jacket, but damn comfy. Someday, I’ll have my own. For now, this will do nicely.
Picked up a new sports bra, new running shoes (it’s been years), and a new traveling bag/sports bag… when confronted with two bags of differing sizes, the make-or-break decision was, “Will I be able to fit my boxing gloves and shoes in here?”
And yes, I did find a pair of khaki pants that fit reasonably well and were long enough, though they’re too dressy for casual wear. Fine for work, but I mourn my Alaskan cargo pants. Someday, I will find them again.
I seem to be doing a great deal of searching for things I’ve lost.
After spending the last four hours feeling like a circus freak who can’t seem to fit into any manufactured sizes, I’m going to go drink some beer and watch Carnivale.
Oh, shit. And do laundry. And pack for class tomorrow.
Never a dull moment.