When faced with a confrontation, or find yourself stressed out to the max, or perhaps receive an email that makes you want to pull your hair out slash punch your fist through the wall, do you ever just want to … shop? Some people work out, mediate … I shop.
This past weekend I found myself in a situation where I was so annoyed that I just needed to be surrounded by style. I didn’t even know what I needed or wanted, I just needed to be in a store to relieve some stress. All of a sudden I found myself driving to Old Navy. Why? Because I love their jeans. To die for. And they are like $20, you can’t beat that … aaaaand I happen to be in the market for a white pair of jeans.
But what I found was over stimulation. Holy colors and graphics, Old Navy, holy colors and graphics. I tried to take a deep breath, close my eyes, open them and take my time sorting through the insane amount of clothes, but it was too much. The large volume of people, and the lights, and the strange hipster music was literally making my head swirl.
My breaking point was when I tried to get into a new section of the store, and was blocked off by a mother, pushing a cart, with two rambunctious children, immersed in a conversation with her friend. First of all, why do clothing stores offer carts? Are you REALLY going to buy THAT much product that you need a damn cart like you are shopping for Thanksgiving dinner? Come on. Last time I checked they only let you bring like six items max in a dressing room. So hence my confusion around the cart convo. All they do is clog aisles and make fellow non-cart using customers, like yours truly, infuriated.
So back to the cart lady blocking the aisle. I politely, with a smile on my face, said “excuse me,” which got no response. Her children still danced around me like candy possessed nightmares as she yelled to her friend, who was at the end of the aisle, to “get her the right size, NO NOT THAT SIZE, THE OTHER SIZE. YEAH YEAH … THAT ONE. NO NOT THAT COLOR.” I said “excuse me” one more time, which still fell on deaf ears, when I decided to suck in every ounce of fat on my body to squeeze past her. Only then did she acknowledge me as I snaked past her, which made her send me a look of death that probably would make babies cry. Really? Seriously? Did you not hear me … oh whatever.
That’s when I said, “I’m out.” Before I made it out the door, my frazzled self became eye-to-eye with a bohemian-style maxi dress. I stood there for a bit figuring out if it was “me”. Does it go with my sense of style? Could I pull it off? Before I knew it I was waiting in line to check out with said maxi that I was still unsure about. I didn’t even try it on. I just bought it. What in the hell? The funny thing is … almost a week later … I STILL don’t know if this maxi is “me.” Do you think this maxi is “me”? It’s so not me, I’m probably going to return it.
The fact that this silly maxi dress that I purchased for $39.95 at Old Navy is hanging in my closet is due to a little thing that I like to call stress shopping. Although this specific experience was stress on stress on stress due to ignorant women and insane children running amok. Oh yeah … and carts. Those damn carts. Can’t a girl just shop in peace?
If you need me I’ll be at Old Navy making a return.