I used to consider myself a fairly trendy gal. I had sassy short hair and wore clever shoes and cool outfits. Shopping was fun. I could shop anywhere from thrift to department stores and find “IT.” Once, when I was living in Columbus, Ohio I was even in a fashion show. Granted I was modeling for a thrift shop and the show was in a bar, but whatever. I felt like Cindy Crawford.
Even in my post-twin days I’ve always thought that I wore fashionable, if not trendy, clothing. I try hard to look decent and wear make-up and do my hair when I leave the house. Unless I’m going to the gym, then I look like crap. But I’m at the gym, so that has to count for something.
I went clothes shopping recently thinking it was time for some exciting summer clothes. Shopping is no longer fun. To begin with, I feel like I keep buying the same clothes over and over again.
This is my stack of V-neck tops. Someone must have told me I looked good in them once. I went with it.
Another reason shopping is not fun is usually I have to take the twinkies. There is nothing less fun then picking out and trying on clothes with two 4-year-old boys in tow. I promised them my phone in the fitting room, if they were good.
Good is a relative term. Good, in their eyes includes knocking over piles of sweaters, pushing down racks, and playing a fun game where they run up to the mannequins and yell out ‘GIRL’ or ‘BOY’ at the top of their lungs.
They would make a lot more money at Gap if they served wine.
I could not find anything (except more V-neck tops). I resorted to buying clothes for Dallas.
The vanity sizing at Gap is out of control. I have a love/hate relationship with it. I love that I can wear teeny tiney sizes. I hate that it gives me a false sense of security about my body. I stare at myself and think, “Great, I’m in a giant size small. Thanks for nothing, Gap.”
Anyway, all the clothes for Dallas were the wrong size. I’m blaming the vanity sizing, although it seems to work in reverse for men. I think Dallas is a medium, apparently he needs a large. I think Gap is just stroking mens’ egos. As if the size of your shirt directly relates to the size of your wiener.
Last night was my turn for the soccer carpool. I dropped off the boys and went to another Gap, close to the practice field. They did not have the same color polos that I purchased on Monday. I chose other colors in the right size and went to the counter.
As the guy was ringing me out, he said the shirts I had chosen today were not on sale like the ones I was returning. I said, “but, they’re the same shirt.” The female manager (who was maybe 17) said, “we mark them down by color.”
Seriously, that’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard.
By color? It’s the same. EXACT SAME. How can one polo shirt be more than another polo shirt that is only different because of the color?
The snarky Tiger-Beat-reading-manager found one of the sale shirts on the clearance rack and I paid the difference on the others. I was irritated and the Bieber-loving-manager knew it.
Luckily though, this Gap also had a Gap Body. I’ve never worn Gap bras. Since there is no Victoria’s Secret in Alaska (like, in the whole state-also stupid) so I decided to try them. I picked up two. The future-star-of-Teen-Mom-manager said, “do you want me to start a fitting room for you?”
“No thanks, I know my bra size.” (I may have mumbled bimbo under my breath)
She checked me out and I headed back to soccer.
When I got home I tried on my new bras.
Too small. I don’t even know my own damn bra size. So dumb.
I’m just going to keep them, it’s a pride thing. Maybe Taryn will grow into them someday. Also, they were on sale. Presumably by color, which is stupid.