I understand there's a quote about this somewhere.
On Monday evening, I went to the one place I'll do anything to avoid:
THE MALL.
Since the past five years of my life have been college-oriented, my wardrobe has gotten away with being... well. Awful. (We're talking glue-stained blue jeans, wrinkled t-shirts, and a rainbow array of flip-flops so vast that Lisa Frank would be jealous.) A few nights ago, as I was worrying over my internship application, a realization struck: if I secured an interview, what would I wear? My hole-infested track pants with dirty green sneakers? The thrift skirt from 1996? One of my numerous "give blood" tees?
So I went to the mall. It's not an easy place to shop, mostly due to my size 18 body. I started at Dillard's, where women-sized clothes are designed for ladies 195 years of age and older. (Plus some of the most basic blouses are $85.00. I'll pan on the street before forking out that much dough.) I at last waved the white flag and went to Lane Bryant (the prices aren't much better, but beggars, choosers, etc.) After trying on a zillion pairs of pants (and trying to figure out their red triangle, yellow square, blue circle sizing system), I finally thrust one onto the check-out counter, along with a shirt that was 60% off (and that Mom later hated).
"You get a free bag for spending over $70.00 with us!" the lady chirped, and I died inside while thanking her. I then grit my teeth and hopped over to Payless, where another $40.00 was spent on black flats (my other flats are at least three years old and dirt-encrusted).
Tuesday, my hair was addressed. (I have no shame in admitting mine's done at Cuts By Us. They're cheap, and so am I!) I plopped my happy behind in the chair, asked for a little trim, and met the stylist's horrified gaze. Apparently, not getting one's hair cut for a year necessitates the loss of at least two inches and a stern lecture about the repercussions of ponytails. Chastised, I tipped him five bucks and fled.
It should be noted, however, that the female parental unit nearly wept with joy when I arrived home with less-ratty hair, and Dad, who'd been pestering me about my lack of "real" shoes, can now sleep at night. Hopefully I won't need to repeat this experience for yet another year; conveniently, that's also the amount of time it will take to re-earn the money I just blew.
“When I get a little money I buy books craft supplies; and if any is left I buy food and clothes there's never any left after that.”
-Desiderius Erasmus (edited by me)
In other news, History of Modern Art is over; printmaking began this morning, and History of Ancient Art starts tomorrow!
THE MALL.
Since the past five years of my life have been college-oriented, my wardrobe has gotten away with being... well. Awful. (We're talking glue-stained blue jeans, wrinkled t-shirts, and a rainbow array of flip-flops so vast that Lisa Frank would be jealous.) A few nights ago, as I was worrying over my internship application, a realization struck: if I secured an interview, what would I wear? My hole-infested track pants with dirty green sneakers? The thrift skirt from 1996? One of my numerous "give blood" tees?
So I went to the mall. It's not an easy place to shop, mostly due to my size 18 body. I started at Dillard's, where women-sized clothes are designed for ladies 195 years of age and older. (Plus some of the most basic blouses are $85.00. I'll pan on the street before forking out that much dough.) I at last waved the white flag and went to Lane Bryant (the prices aren't much better, but beggars, choosers, etc.) After trying on a zillion pairs of pants (and trying to figure out their red triangle, yellow square, blue circle sizing system), I finally thrust one onto the check-out counter, along with a shirt that was 60% off (and that Mom later hated).
"You get a free bag for spending over $70.00 with us!" the lady chirped, and I died inside while thanking her. I then grit my teeth and hopped over to Payless, where another $40.00 was spent on black flats (my other flats are at least three years old and dirt-encrusted).
Tuesday, my hair was addressed. (I have no shame in admitting mine's done at Cuts By Us. They're cheap, and so am I!) I plopped my happy behind in the chair, asked for a little trim, and met the stylist's horrified gaze. Apparently, not getting one's hair cut for a year necessitates the loss of at least two inches and a stern lecture about the repercussions of ponytails. Chastised, I tipped him five bucks and fled.
It should be noted, however, that the female parental unit nearly wept with joy when I arrived home with less-ratty hair, and Dad, who'd been pestering me about my lack of "real" shoes, can now sleep at night. Hopefully I won't need to repeat this experience for yet another year; conveniently, that's also the amount of time it will take to re-earn the money I just blew.
“When I get a little money I buy books craft supplies; and if any is left I buy food and clothes there's never any left after that.”
-Desiderius Erasmus (edited by me)
In other news, History of Modern Art is over; printmaking began this morning, and History of Ancient Art starts tomorrow!