Macy's and Me

Today I went to the mall. (Insert dramatic *gasp!* from loyal readers here.)

For those of you who know better, my going to the mall is tantamount to a solar eclipse…it occurs so rarely that you need to see it with your own eyes to believe it really happened. The fact that I went on a SUNDAY is practically unfathomable…but there you have it.

I had a gift card from Macy’s, you see-
It came on my birthday, from Laura to me-
If you look at my wardrobe, you’d have to agree-
That all of my clothes are now way too baggy.

Besides, I had to drive Taylor there to meet his friends.

It’s always a pleasure to walk in a congested public place with a 16-year-old guy who makes no secret of the fact that he’s trying to ignore you. I have to practically trot to keep up with his long-legged gait (he’s almost 6’2”, after all) and he’s making every effort to put as much physical distance between he and I as possible….because Heaven forbid anyone should know I’m his mother. I’m positive that I never felt this way about my parents…I seem to recall going out of my way to introduce my friends (and even random strangers) to my parents, who I’m sure took me to the mall every chance they could and I undoubtedly appreciated every minute of it.

Uh huh.

So Taylor’s coming dangerously close to breaking the sound barrier in his effort to ditch me and I’m gleefully (not.) looking forward to clothes shopping for the next several hours. I breeze past the cosmetics area, regretfully tearing myself away from the Estee counter and the lady in the navy lab coat who’s looking at me with a combination of alarm and pity…I’ve seen that look before. Do they practice that look in Cosmetics-Lady-School or what? I can imagine the Cosmetics-Professor in the front of the room lecturing, “To get the customer to stop long enough to reel them in, you must perfect this look,” whereby she parrots the expression usually reserved for that moment when you realize to your horror that the piece of pie you’ve just served to your guest wasn’t supposed to have any raisons in it…

I’ll give you a moment. I know it’s gross, but we’ve all been there. You may be saying “ewww!” but I know you can relate on some level. At least…I hope I’m not the only one.

Anyway, that’s the look I’m getting and if I would just stop long enough, she might be able to help me…but alas, there’s no time for the frivolity of looking ten…, no possibly twenty years younger…for I’ve got clothes to try on!

So it’s on to the women’s clothing department and it’s all a blur from there. I do remember being in the roomy (and I might add, conspicuously Hazel-free) dressing room and hearing two ladies in the room to the left of mine:

“Now…see….I like this one, but now you can really see my 50-year-old flabby arms in this top. Just LOOK at these 50-year-old flabby arms, Mother.”

“It’s not so bad, dear….but what is THIS?”

“Oh. Darn…I’m wearing my really crappy bra. I was out doing some gardening this morning….completely forgot to change…..”

….and on the right side of my dressing room:

“I think you look TOTALLY HOT in that dress, Jenna. Mike is going to… like, TOTALLY want you back.”

“Do you really think so?? Go see if you can find the same one in PINK.”

I smile to myself, as I wonder if I’m the only one here without a “buddy” to vent to and maybe that’s my whole problem. I diligently go from one pair of trousers to the next, dismissing this one for being too low in the rise and that one for digging into my butt. Same goes for the dutifully chosen matching tops…this one’s too long and that one’s got a definite pucker right near the “girls”.

I proudly walk away from the “almost-but-not-quite” pile of garments that I would have gladly purchased and then bolted for the nearest parking lot a mere six months ago. I’ve grown…I can tell. C-man would be proud.

Four agonizing hours later, I wind up with two pairs of trousers and two matching tops. I’ve barely spent half of my allotted gift card and this troubles me…

For it means I’m doomed to repeat this experience all over again.