I don’t know when it happened… the actual time and date or anything… I mean, I don’t think you can expect anyone to ever pinpoint the exact moment their style ran out. It just sort of happens to some of us I guess. I USED to have style… or at least I thought I did. Not some kinda catalog cover couture or anything, but I was comfortable throwing an outfit or two together. So my moment apparently came and went and no one told me. There were no alarms or signs, or if there were I didn’t take note. No one said anything, to my face anyway.
So tonight, at the mall, I stare at racks and racks of sherbert colored pants… PANTS… and have no idea what to do with them. Am I in the wrong store? Should I just go ahead and retire myself to a Men’s Warehouse and have some middle-aged man pick things out for me? Ah damn, I’m about middle-aged now, right? This day just keeps getting worse! Frustrated and bewildered I put down the one pair of pants I had the courage to try on because any possible t-shirt to match was in a small or medium… because everyone around me is a medium. What the hell kind of miniature, hellish parallel universe have I awoke in? Is everyone getting smaller or is it just the clothes? No I will not wear a belly shirt, thank you.
Someone do me a favor. Open a clothing store that has nice, trendy, age-appropriate clothes, all behind a big counter and up on a huge display in menu format like McDonald’s. Outfits are already put together, so… I’ll take two number threes… one red and one black, size XL… not European XL because that’s a medium… and a side order of black shoes size 13… not a UK 13 because that’s a 12. In this fantasy store I wouldn’t have to try on anything after my first visit because I was measured that first time and my sizes are on file, and everything is always cut to fit that same way. Every time. So when I return in a few months, guess what… the XL is still an XL and not occasionally a large.
Or maybe I need a personal shopping assistant. Maybe malls should have a kiosk full of uber-trendy people you can rent by the hour to put clothes together for you. I would totally rent one and they would give me permission to try on crazy things I normally wouldn’t consider, or slap the back of my head if I reach for Hush Puppies.
You know who has crazy cool style and could help with my fashion dilemma? My next door neighbor. He’s 16. I didn’t have have that much style at 16. I just wore my older brother’s clothes and hoped he didn’t catch me. But alas, there’s no un-creepy way to ask your neighbor if you can borrow his 16 year-old son to go shopping. Besides, I’d end up pants sagging, flat bill sideways and more confused then ever. **On a side note, great to see sagging pants are still in. Totally makes sense. Yes, firmly grip your belt buckle as you waddle penguin-style, legs spread wide to keep the sides from falling. If I had a Hush Puppie I would hit you roundly about the head and neck area. And skinny jeans? I’m thinking I’d kick my own ass if I put some on.**
The mall trip wasn’t a total loss. I did buy one shirt, although it bares a striking resemblance to most of my other shirts, and also got to crush some Auntie Anne’s pretzel bites. You know what never goes out of style? Those pretzels. They’ve been the same since high school.