The waist is too big, but the legs are just right. The waist is just right, but the legs are too short. This is a common problem I have with many of shopping visits. As I mentioned last post I am notoriously skinny, and pretty tall. This is an issue when picking out clothes for me. My mom and I went shopping for winter wear today and, even though I had a swim meet, a rhapsody concert, and a birthday party, elsewhere in my week, I thought this would produce the most interesting blog.
We began in Walmart, the epicenter of every low cost item that is constantly available. My mother quickly whisked us to the men's section and I began to slowly check all systems for a complete entrepic shutdown. When I say complete entrepic shutdown I mean that I turn off all systems besides the ones that walk, try on clothes, and tell my mother which fits better. My dad does it too and my mom hates it equally in both of us. Of course complete entrepic shutdown, or CESD, is not easy to sustain due to the fact that it's hardest to keep your mind silent when you're telling it to stay silent. So every once in a while I have an outburst of ridiculousness.
My mom snatches a pair of pants off the hook and sets them against me like I'm wearing them. "Your waist is too small." she says without surprise. "You're too tall and too skinny." CESD wears off for a minute and I blurt, "Maybe a circus outlet might carry them in my size." She doesn't respond and I, feeling slightly sad my comment wasn't funny, reenter CESD. I awaken to find myself in a changing room with two pairs of pants, and a hoodie. I wrestle with the pants until they are all the way on. I release the top of the pants and they immediately slide until they're balanced delicately between my upper thighs and my bum. I anticipated this dilemma and whip out my trusty belt. This particular belt was probably made for a six year old but it fits me perfectly. I quickly pull it through the loops, like a grandmother knitting, and pull it tight. These pants are very comfortable and I admire myself in the mirror. I lose control for a second and begin dancing in front of the mirror. My feet shuffle back and forth and my hands whip loosely around my head. Why I do these things I don't know, but they make life more interesting, so who cares? I turn and make sure everything's in order before I leave the room to find a woman slowly raising her eyes to my face with a confused smirk on her face. I think for a moment and realize that there is a small crack at the floor of the door to the changing room. I scoot quickly past while I consider how my ridiculous dance moves had looked to her through the crack in the door. At the time though, I hadn't considered them ridiculous. I let my mother observe me as I slid seamlessly back into CESD.
I wake up in the car heading to Target with a bag of goodies loaded in the back. I think it would be good to tell you that my mom loves cars. She can name any car, any time. You point at it and she's got it in five seconds. The roles of car lovers seems kind of reversed in my family. My dad could care much less for cars. If you were to ask him about the cars across the street it would go something like this; "Hey, what type of car is that?"
"A blue car."
It really is exactly like that. So whenever I want to know anything about cars, I ask my mom.
So we're in her Honda Civic and she begins to point out the cars she likes that drive around us. Now I'm not that interested in cars, but when my mom starts talking about cars I try to listen. I think it's important to try and take an interest in what others say. I've talked to people who really aren't listening to my words and others who immediately shoot down whatever I say. I hate when others do that to me, so I really do invest in what anybody else says to me. It's a nice thing to do and it makes them happy, so why not listen?
So, all tangents aside, we rode, observing the various makes and models, to Target. We picked up some new jeans and took a walk to the changing rooms. We stop in the section for small kids and my mom grabs a pair of especially small pants. "You used to fit in these." she said while she relived my time as a baby. "Oh the waist on those is perfect." I said jokingly "It's just not long enough. She laughed and we made our way to the womens' section. I looked above all the frills and the pink to see a large sign that said "Boys' and Mens' changing rooms. I wondered silently why the mens' changing rooms were located in the center of the girls' clothing section but I realized it didn't matter and walked into the changing room yet again.
CESD carries me quickly to my sudden thought that there may be cameras in the changing rooms. I think back to my goofy dance moves in Walmart and imagine it on the Internet in three days at Number 1 on the "Look-at-this-idiot" chart. I sweep the walls with my eyes and find nothing suspicious. CESD worked it's magic for the last time and we left the changing rooms with another pile of shirts and pants. We were walking along the row of checkout counters when I found a rack of large umbrellas. CESD subsided long enough for me to grab one and pronounce, "We could use a GIANT UMBRELLA!!!" next to a family with many small children. I stood like a knight that just slayed a dragon a moment longer then jammed the umbrella back into it's place and returned to my mother. I thought about the family I had been in front of and wondered what they thought of me at that moment.
I've always hated having to hide who I really am so I can look "normal". I hate it when people pretend to be somebody they aren't so they can be cool and fit in. I used to be bothered by how others saw me but lately I've stopped caring. If other people want to hate me for who I am then it doesn't matter to me. I have friends who like me for who I am and I don't want to fit in anyway. Everybody should be free to be whoever they want. The people who pick on others for being individuals are the ones who are at fault. They're afraid of people who are different because they don't know how to manipulate them like they manipulate everybody else. So as I considered what that woman and her children had thought of me, I realized it didn't matter what they thought. I hoped that instead of laughing at me, they laughed with me and learned that individuality is much better than social status.
I left Target that day with new clothes, new jokes, and a sense of pride in my individuality.
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