Sunday, April 30, 2006

Conversely Perverse Universe of Converse

My God, with every fiber of my skinny little being, I hate shopping.

Wait. Hold on. I can find a better word than "hate."

I detest shopping.

I loathe shopping.

I abhor shopping.

We have a winner!

My abhoration of shopping is directly proportional to my inability to find anything that fits a thirty five year old man of my "stature."

To recap, I wear a lot of extra large boys clothes.

In reality, I don't. But that's the only clothes that will fit my weary little body.

But I don't want to look like a skater, poser, gang member or any member of the now defunct Backstreet Boys.

Most of the time when I finally do have funds in my wallet, it causes an itch that starts in my ass, wiggles its way up through my torso, into my outstretched arm which is reaching for my wallet.

Which takes me back to my ass, or lack thereof.

Ordering clothes online is entertaining enough, but the results are not.

Usually its a fifty-fifty ordeal. The clothes are always in very nice shape and no one has infiltrated them with their shopping cooties, but the sizes are never quite right.

Honstly, most clothes for my height are made for someone weighing fifty pounds more.

The real reason I ventured to the mall today is I haven't bought any new clothes since last summer.

The real, REAL reason is I have a concert to go to on Saturday and I don't want to look like I held up the local Goodwill.

I don't even really know if I'm going because I haven't heard from her in nearly a week.

Yes, women tire of me easily unfortunately.

I'm so used to being alone that when a member of the female species actually takes valuable time out of their life to spend it with me, I'm so overwhelmed my Self Esteem goes into overload and I end up doing or saying something stupid.

I know. I sound like a fourteen year old.

It's because I suffer from Social Retardation.

Spending years in sickly solitary confinement will do that to a guy.

But back to my shopping adventure.

I started by trying to find Converse. That's all I wear with jeans, the low top Converse.

Every shoe store I went into couldn't find my size. The Converse that are now adorning my feet say "7", but every "7" I was brought turned out to be too big.

Yes, I'm thinking that too...either my feet have shrunk or my old Converse have.

I was about to leave the mall when I was walking by the Mervyn's war zone.

Since Mervyn's shoes are so inexpensive and no one is manning the department, shoes are wandering about, wondering where they're supposed to be.

I feel bad for a lot of the shoes. Some look brokenhearted. Others confused. Still others have bite marks from young children. Many looked exhausted and ready to give up.

By maneuvering stealth-like through the maze of bratty children and odiferous elderly, I plopped myself down next to the Converse shelf and started searching for size "7".

The funny thing about the printed box sizes was they were in both men's and women's sizes.

That's why I love Converse. They don't discriminate. They're unisex.

Apparently my Angel of Mercy was in a festive as well as comical mood, because I discovered after numerous wearing of left and right Converse, that I wear a Men's 5 1/2.

That translates to a 7 1/2 in women's, for whatever reason.

I didn't question the box or the new black Converse adorning my right foot. I laced them up just to make sure and wouldn't you know I wear a Men's 5 1/2.

Yeah, I didn't know they made that size either.

The sales clerk didn't mock me when I paid for the shoes and even mentioned that they get new Converse in every week.

My Navy Blue pair have a couple holes in them, so a store that I've simply walking through to enter and exit the mall has become my footwear savior.

All in all it was a successful day at the mall

But I still ABHOR shopping.