A Short Tale
Some days you feel really good about yourself. Other days you try on clothes at a store.
We’re about to embark on a big family vacation, during which time we’ll have a photographer take pictures of all 14 of us together. Family photos=coordinating clothing. Coordinating clothing=a color I don’t currently own in a size that fits, much less flatters. Needing clothes=checked everywhere for said color to no avail, so one last-ditch effort visit to Old Navy on my way home from work yesterday.
I found a shirt that fits the bill (AND ME!), more or less. And with that accomplishment, I felt something akin to relief and happiness.
Then I started thinking about the fact that we’ll be in Florida and it will be stupid hot and my shiny white legs probably will wither up and fall off if I attempt to wear jeans and capris the entire week. This thinking led me down a dangerous path…right to the shorts section.
I’ll pull a page from the Stephenie Meyer School of Writing here and spare you the action sequence.
I ended up in the checkout line with a couple of shirts and no shorts. Also in the checkout line, a woman with a couple of kids—one of whom could be heard throughout the store as he wailed woefully. At the tender age of 3-maybe-4 years old, this tot was decidedly unhappy with his mother, repeatedly saying he didn’t like her anymore.
For the entirety of our 15 minutes in the checkout line, he moaned and repeatedly told this poor woman that he didn’t like her anymore.
So, to the woman at Old Navy who was probably having a rough day… I just tried on a bunch of shorts so I, too, am familiar with that fresh wave of humiliation and disappointment… It’s nothing a nap can’t fix.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.