I hate shopping. Well, correction. I love grocery shopping; I like to look at the products, give them a smell, maybe a taste, and pick up things to make. I like book, movie, game, etc. shopping because, though the 'shopping' part blows, I get something nice out of it. Shopping for clothes, shoes, purses, beauty products, etc.? My mother or mother-in-law tend to do that for me. I've probably bought more clothes for my best friends than I ever have for myself.
But I needed a couple of things, and I figured, hell, why send Barb to do it when I can get this challenge out of the way? So I went to the mall and began my hunt, with the following guidelines.
- I couldn't text my fiance, brother, father, or best friend.
- I couldn't stop at a book, electronics, or food store.
- I couldn't stop to eat at the food court or restaurants in the mall.
- I couldn't go on the internet unless it was for price comparison.
I begin my search with shoes. I have large feet - about a size 10 - so it can be difficult to find shoes, but not nearly as difficult as the next two tasks at hand. I need white flats with a decent design, sub $100, to wear at my wedding. I stop in three stores, each charging upwards of $80 for what I would accurately describe as sandals. In the lack of alternatives, however, I pick up an unbacked pair with a butterfly design. They are simple, comfortable, and prevent skidding. I will probably never wear them after my wedding, but who knows, I might find an occasion. I then proceed to look for a small white purse to go with them; I quickly find a clutch that is suitable and cheap, and I buy it.
My feet are already tired, admittedly more from trying on shoes than from walking around, but I persevere. My next stop is lingerie. I needed a few pairs of panties and a couple of bras. This was where my size began to rear its ugly head. You see, I am what some might refer to as a big, beautiful woman or - for the more internet-inclined - a "hambeast". Certainly not obese, but unless it is Old Navy, it can be very, very hard to find something that will fit me in a mainstream clothing store. I find some stretchy XL panties rather quickly, but 44DDD? That takes a couple of stores to find anything comfortable. The first store had nothing but strapless bras in my size, and ladies, well-endowed girls should not wear strapless bras. They do not work, no matter how much elastic and rubber they line the thing with. The second store had nothing over a DD. The third store had two bras in my size, plain black and skin toned, which I settled for.
Hour three was the hour of beautification, a term I use most loosely. I headed to Shoppers, a (Canadian?) pharmacy not unlike CVS, and started simply with finding a pair of tights. I settled for a pair that will no doubt snag and tear after a night's wear, but a night was all I needed them for. I picked up a bottle of Head & Shoulders, and then went to my least favorite aisle of them all: the makeup aisle.
I don't wear makeup. I own some of the basic stuff, all no doubt dreadfully mismatched for my face's shade. But with a picture of my dress in hand, I asked a woman working in the beauty aisle to help me find something suitable for the wedding. She picked out all of the most expensive things, as you may imagine, which I took down towards the more familiar, cheap brands and simply found things in matching colours.
I cheated slightly at the end of this hour by buying a mini Toblerone bar. But I ate it on the go and bought it from a shop I was at for other reasons, so I don't really care. I capped off the hour by using a gift card from a friend at Sephora, where I was deeply insulted by the woman at the register, who immediately pointed me towards the "FatGirl" section of the store, which had soaps that would help reduce appetite. I bought some nail polish and some moisturizer.
At last, I was forced to address the final issue: my hair. I didn't want to do my hair near the wedding, since it is always cut far shorter than I appreciate it, and I like having the bangs a bit long. So I got my hair cut, in a pixie cut if you cared, so that it was a few inches shorter - enough that it would be just right for my wedding. My hair grows mad fast, as an aside. It is beastly, insanely thick, and can grow down to my bum in less than two years from a pixie cut.
I wandered aimlessly for the rest of the 20 minutes I had of my four hours, then stopped in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond to buy a new cheese grater, because damn if I didn't specify that I couldn't buy kitchen supplies during all this. It had a rubber lining to keep it from sliding, four well defined and beautifully sharp sides, and a strong handle that is easy to grip. I am very fond of this. I used it the next day to grate mozzarella for a pizza.