If there’s one person who hates shopping for clothes more than me, it’s my mom. The woman will spend hours in Home Depot or a greenhouse, but trying to get her to try on a pair of jeans is like pulling infected teeth out of a rabid badger. I’ve only been marginally successful in one of those activities, and I still have the scar to prove it.
But the fact is both her purse and her favorite sweatshirt jacket looked as if they had been attacked by a badger. She had a gift card for Kohl’s—a gift card she’s had for a year—so with the promise of a beer afterwards if she was good, I was able to convince her to go look around.
Considering I need new winter clothes anyway, I figured I could hunt while she sought out the elusive and exotic items on her list that she claimed were impossible to find—jeans, a black purse and a sweatshirt.
We split up, and it took me .8 seconds to remember that I still hate shopping. Clothes in the juniors department said “slutty schoolgirl” while those in the women’s department screamed “stodgy schoolmarm.”
Considering I wasn’t really going for either of those looks (at that given time, mind you) I was done looking at clothes five minutes and one stuck-in-this-shirt dressing room experience later.
Don’t pretend you’ve never gotten stuck in an article of clothing in a dressing room.
Anyway, after wandering around the store and reassuring multiple sales associates that the only thing they could help me find was my mom—they declined, by the way—I texted her to ask her location.
It seems no matter what we do, I always lose her in a store, which is why I do slightly sympathize with parents who take their kids shopping. However, my mom would never agree to be pushed around in a cart or hooked up to one of those leashes, so I’m forced to hunt and seek.
When I did finally find her, I realized she didn’t answer my text because she was too busy trying on a sweatshirt jacket over her sweatshirt jacket before claiming it was too small. I tried to convince her to take off her sweatshirt, but I could tell she was also nearing the point where that suggestion was as appealing as badger molar extraction.
You pick your battles.
The good news was that despite not trying on any jeans—they don’t carry the one size and style she bought 10 years ago and hasn’t been able to find since—she did find a purse. Thank god for small miracles and big bags.
As we went to the checkout, we passed the first sweatshirt jacket we looked at upon entering the store, one dismissed due to some flaw that was now rendered invisible as it was thrown into her cart to take home.
I asked no questions.
Once we checked out and headed for the door, she remembered she wanted to look at pillows, so I agreed to go put our purchases in the truck while she sat on the bench and waited for me to come back.
When I came back approximately 2.3 minutes later, she was not on the bench. I was not surprised.
After wandering around the store and reassuring multiple sales associates that the only thing they could help me find was my mom—they declined, again, a bit more suspiciously—I looked down an aisle and found her lying on the ground trying out a pillow.
The next 10 minutes were spent with her lying on the ground, trying out pillows—unsuccessfully.
So we left and went to buy pumpkins, something much more enjoyable for all involved.
I like small pumpkins.
As I was putting them out on my front steps later that night, I got this text from my mom:
“Just said a quick prayer over my old purse and buried it while wearing my new sweatshirt and cradling a pumpkin. I kind of feel like a rock star.”
And that, my friends, is considered shopping success.