After work today, Pat picked me up for a five hour shopping expedition. We started off at Chile’s, where she treated me to appetizers and drinks (I forgot that we had an agreement not to eat out to save money, but the anticipation of margaritas gave me amnesia). Our server was an impeccably groomed but overly-attentive fellow that made me feel monstrously tall and muscular. He returned to our table repeatedly, anxiously asking if we needed anything. I might have thought he was captivated by my amazon figure, however, he probably hoped we would order more margaritas and food.
We spent the next several hours at the local mall, checking out the newest clothes. A preponderance of bo-ho fluff and tiny tee shirts confronted us. I’ll skip the obligatory commentary on the apparent shrinking of women’s clothing and say that Lycra makes me very “boobalicious.” Not wanting to look like an extra on a Russ Meyer movie (Tura Rules!), I regretfully left a very sweet Corpse Bride tee at Hot Topic. Maybe I could sacrifice my modesty for the sake of art, since I adore Tim Burton?
After swearing we would watch The Corpse Bride together on opening weekend, we searched for the funky acre-wide Halloween store. No luck. A disappointment, since Pat is helping to plan “Nukestock” with sweetheart Kurt. This year’s theme is Year of the Cephalopod, “a combination of the thalassic with innuendos of Cthulu mythos.” I could celebrate the marine theme with a tiny tee shirt featuring fish, but my husband would be the horrified one (why do you show such breasts?!).
Anyway, we drooled over many, many pairs of shoes and tried on a hundred outfits. On an odd note, I found treasures in dressing rooms twice. In one I found a gift card, the other a gold ring with authentic looking gemstones. I turned them both in and gave Pat two dollars for lottery tickets because I felt lucky. If we win, Ewbliette will take a limo to work to tell them to screw off and I’ll go back to school to study horticulture.
The only thing we forgot to do was to spend our obligatory hour (and paycheck portion) at Barnes and Noble. Trying on all those tight tee-shirts must have cut the circulation to our brains!