I Will Never Shop Again. NEVER EVER!
Every time I try to do what is widely known as shopping, it is a complete desaster. I seem unable to shop. I seem unable to enjoy shopping. Obviously I lack some girly feature which makes shopping enjoyable.
I had two goals today. Buy books and buy clothes. I was hopeful enough to think that I would at least achieve one of these goals. Guess what happened…
Exactly.
The books. I made a list of all the books recommended by my blog readers. I had a voucher worth 30 Euro from that one bookshop and vowed to spend it all on books from that list. Only that they had none of those books available. Well, they had Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City, but I already read that in German and I wanted to spend all 30 Euro or nothing. So I spent nothing and will go to the other store on Hohe Strasse next time to see if maybe they have at least some of the books from my list.
So much about my first defeat.
Then I went clothes shopping. Again. Because I’m not able to learn from my past mistakes. Or because I’m incredibly optimistic. Or both.
I was smart enough to look for the address of another Zara store and went there immediately. When I stepped in I was in heaven. No winter sales, or at least not solely winter sales. Matching blazers and trousers actually hanging next to each other. I was happy.
Until I tried some clothes on.
Let me tell you this straight: That fattish girl in the mirror was NOT me. I must know because I know me. I don’t look like that. It was a girl that looked a lot like me, I admit and happened to be in the same cubicle, coincidentally trying on the same clothes I picked, but she was at least 4 pounds heavier than I am.
That was not me.
Why is it that I look okay in every mirror in our apartment, but when it comes to trying on clothes in a store I look like I need to join the Weightwatchers immediately. Do they do something to the lights? To the mirror? Am I stepping not only into a cubicle but also into another dimension where everyone is fatter? Because I really don’t look like that. And that’s not hurt pride that’s stating a fact.
I also realized again that I seem unable to understand the concept that clothes come in different sizes and that I don’t fit in every one of them. When I see something I like I tend to grab the very first item and have to remind myself to look for the right size, too. Or I’ll end up in a cubicle with a pair of trousers size 36 which even with a constant holding your breath I will never fit in. I also never remember exactly which size I have. Which might be because my body is strange with sizes. I need at least a 40 for my trousers, but sometimes I can go with a skirt size 38. Also I have clothes ranging from size S to XL in my wardrobe which all fit.
(I have to admit that I only have one t-shirt size S in my drawer, and I suspect it’s because I bought it at H&M, where all the sizes are perfectly screwed up.)
I know now by the way, that I need to get real and realize that I need a size 42 when I buy trousers. Tragic, but true.
I also tried on two shirts, which magically made my boobs at least two sizes bigger. How can that be? Those were regular shirts. How could they do that? I honestly don’t need magical breast enlargements. But again I claim that that girl I saw in the mirror was not me.
That said I was exhausted and disappointed when I left the cubicle, so I couldn’t get myself to trying on anything else. I just got back to work, again empty handed and again with a vow never to go shopping again.
Oh, and guys at Zara: See you tomorrow.