Give Me Sackcloth and Ashes

Yesterday, I was faced with a sad, unavoidable fact about myself.

I am a fashion mutant.

I must be, or how else could I go to ten stores, spend over four hours, and not find a single pair of pants that I like? In fact, be faced with racks and racks of pants that, although apparently considered quite cute by the rest of the world, made me want to throw up?

Now, I admit, I am not fond of shopping. I am fond of clothes. I love clothes. I love finding that perfect combination that makes you feel like a funky, free spirited vixen. There are outfits, that when donned, can make you feel all flirtatious and spunky, and hopelessly interesting, ala Holly Golightly. Sadly, though, these items are rarely found at a mall. Can you see Holly Golightly at the mall? Trying on oddly fitting pants with those stupid plastic theft deterrent doohickeys digging holes into her thigh, while bemoaning the funereal lighting mandatory in all fitting rooms? I think not.

Every three or four years, when my current pairs of pants become so ragged they are kept together by a myriad of patches, I go shopping. This is a cruel test of willpower that I usually put off for months before finally working up the required energy to endure. In fact, the only reason I actually went to buy these damn things is because I started a new job, and wanted more than two pairs of pants to rotate through each day. And my cat ripped a hole out of my third pair.

Strangely, my horrible affliction is apparently only reserved for pants. Everything else, I can handle. Shirts are easy - I have a uniform - I wear tank tops. Everyday. In the spring and fall, I wear tank tops and cardigans. In the winter, tank tops under sweaters. In the summer...you get the picture. A becoming and reasonably priced tank top is easy to find. Shoes are no problem. I own five pairs of Doc Martens. Oh, and three pairs of pumps for the few times a year they are required. Skirts - easy - who needs skirts? Skirts are something you buy when you walk by a store and see something that catches your fancy. Pants - they are the bane of my existence.

So, off the mall. Evil, vile things, malls are. I swear they are designed with the specific intention of draining ones will to live, until you are so desperate to get out of there, you are willing to shell out 95 bucks for a pair of canary yellow platform running shoes. And, can I ask a question- please? Who the hell decided we all wanted to dress like refugees from 1976? I refuse to spend my hard earned money on anything I have vague recollections of my mother wearing when disco was considered cool. Why? Why? Why!!!

This time I thought I was being smart. I had a mission, an actual idea of what I wanted to find. I had a vague idea of khakis, casual, yet suitable for work. I hedged my bets by being flexible on style and colour. Before I left the house, it didn't seem like all that big a deal, really. Khaki's are popular, it would be easy, a piece of cake! Right? Boy, was I wrong! In retrospect, I was really, truly deluded. The closest I came to finding a pair was the Gap, they have nice khakis and in a variety of styles to suit even the freakishly short legged like myself. Problem being, I have issues with paying 70 dollars plus tax for a label, let alone a label that I am not particularly fond of. So begins much trudging and cringing and gnashing of teeth. Around two hours worth.

So you, ask, what do I end up buying, after this gruesome ordeal?

The exact same damn pair of jeans I bought the last time I bought jeans, in 1995.

Oh yeah, and a tank top.