As I sat on the couch in my apartment two weeks ago and stared
down at my newly acquired $200 in state tax refund money, I
couldn’t help but notice the giant tear in the right leg of my
shorts and it made me think of something
– you know what, I don’t have too many pairs of pants or shorts
that don’t have holes in ’em.
As I sat on the couch in my apartment two weeks ago and stared down at my newly acquired $200 in state tax refund money, I couldn’t help but notice the giant tear in the right leg of my shorts and it made me think of something – you know what, I don’t have too many pairs of pants or shorts that don’t have holes in ’em.
In fact, while I was out in a bar recently with friends and happened upon a girl, one of my friends overheard someone comment, “I can’t believe that girl is talking to a guy with holes in his pants.”
So I scrapped the idea of blowing my money off on something I really need, like a bed that actually fits my 6-foot-3-inch frame so my big ‘ol feet don’t hang off the end, and headed off to the Gilroy Outlets to do some shopping after work the next day (On this day I was wearing a pair of jeans with a hole in the back pocket and a growing one in the knee, barely suitable for work).
Now, for those of you who don’t know me, you might assume that I am your average, stereotypical male shopper: go to one store, find something cheap and get the heck out. But those who do know me might understand that I am a worse shopping partner than any average girl you might know, which usually means that I have to do most of my shopping alone because no one wants to deal with how long it takes me. You want proof? How about this – I actually have a clothing store shopping card, which I have all but retired because every time I pull it out I end up in debt and can’t get the thing paid off for months.
So, I rolled into the parking lot outside of a clothing store and went in. Fifteen minutes went by as I walked up and down the store and looked at different shirts and shorts that qualified as “maybes” and others that I thought I might be able to find cheaper elsewhere. Really, how many guys call clothes on the rack “maybes?” I even thought about using the blue pen I had behind my ear to write down the prices on my hand, but that seemed a little excessive even for me.
I left and drove across the street, where I spent another at least another good hour walking in and out of countless stores, doing little more than looking at price tags and making mental notes “Ooh, I like that color. … Do I really need another plaid shirt? … These shorts look funny with these weird pockets … I sure have a lot of blue clothes, probably don’t need any more.”
And the worst part is that I really don’t even dress very well. It just so happens that I have to work extra hard to look average. I remember my mom and my sister making fun of me when I was in elementary school for my inability to get my clothes to match, and I generally just put together my best guess even today when I put on a pair of pants and a shirt each morning. I’m just indecisive.
By the time it was all said and done, I returned to my car with … you guessed it, absolutely nothing. But I couldn’t help but applaud myself for some good scouting work. After going home for dinner and reviewing some mental notes on prices, I decided that I was ready to return to the store and actually buy something. I hopped back in my car and rolled right back down to the outlets, heading for one of the stores I had been to earlier. This time I knew exactly what I wanted and was ready to just go in and buy.
But when I got there, I spotted a store I hadn’t been in. I couldn’t help but check it out. One hour and three trips to the fitting room later, I left with a pair of jeans and a pair of shorts (several other pairs were returned to the rack for cost and length issues). Another hour of bouncing between stores and a realization that all the stores would be closing down for the night led to me making a few last-minute purchases of a few shirts and another pair of shorts, but not until I made two more trips to a fitting room and pushed the four-item maximum for the fitting room.
In all, I spent more than three hours at the outlets and found a way to spend nearly all of the state tax return. I returned to my apartment that night and joyously recounted my shopping trip with my neighbor while her husband and my roommate watched basketball in the other room … guys. … She complained about her husband’s disdain for shopping, and said that we should go together and I could help her pick out clothes for her husband.
I said, “I don’t know, I’m really not good at this.”
But all of a sudden it hit me that hundreds more dollars would soon be on their way in the form of my federal tax return. Shopping partners don’t come easy for me, and she asked just in time, because you know what? This guy needs some new shoes …
“You know what?” I said. “You’re on.”
