1) I stood in not one, not two, not three, but four queues, today - buying clothes, that could have been done in two. What my parents never realise is that clothes are not leprechauns. You don't have to rush and buy one, when you see it, and return to hunting down it's other brethren, on separate occasions. These one item purchases are really starting to bother me, as it's myself who has to go searching around the two-story stores of Edgars and Woolworthes for the shortest queue, and report back to The Higher Powers - who have by then taken a moment's rest on a comfortable couch/bench.
2) Leprechaun hunting isn't limited to purchases, however, as my mom seems to try on clothes one size at a time; instead of doing the obvious and taking three consecutive sizes into the changing room, with her. This is why I hate shopping with women. Mothers, girlfriends, friends of the opposite sex. You've all been the same. I hate you for that...
3) The changing rooms are definitely out to annoy me. Not only did I wait in a queue, for my mom, to only have my dad pull her out when we finally reach the front as he had found a "full-length" mirror (note: my leprechaun theory is beginning to sway from a figure of speech to reality, as there is no way a fully grown person could possibly accomodate their entire reflection in that mirror) for my mom to try on her gown. A girl smiled at me during this time (before realising what my parents were doing/arguing). I hung my head in shame, and of course, like everything else in my life, nothing came of it. Left to his own devices, my father decided to try on some shirts. What he didn't realise, is the fact that one needs to read the signs the shops have fitted before walking into a dressing room. To cut a long story short, he attempted to get changed in the children's dressing room, before being chased off. I guess I know where I get my pedophile nature from, now. I guess it could have been worse. He could have accidentally walked into the lady's bathroom. Oh, wait, nevermind. That happened, too...
4) It's probably a good thing my dad wasn't holding three sets of bras and the most flamboyant orange jocks you'll ever see (I tried to find it on Google, but apparently "Orange jocks" is slang term for erection. FML, FML, FML. I'm going to acidify my eyes after typing this post). The bad news? I was... those were the longest 40 minutes of my life. I'm pretty sure I've now been named "Transvestite Boy" by everyone who saw me; they stared enough, anyway. What could make it worse? I've never seen that many people I've known in one place, before. Everywhere I looked, there were guys from my High School. One even had a busted up eye, and while it would have been a perfect reason to laugh at him, I realised I was in a far worse spot. To top it off, I saw a girl from University there, too. I'm pretty sure she saw me, as, you know, we did lock eyes. I, however, pretended I never saw her and walked off. At that very moment my "special" possessions were not in view thanks to a counter in front of me. If I had acknowledged her presence, she would have noticed them, and I would never be able to look her in the face, ever again. So, she probably hates me, but oh well. That's life, right?
Right?!
No comments:
Post a Comment
You probably disagree, have your say. Not that I'll give a **** ;-)