Dude, I have to stop buying clothes.
I have monster heating and electricity bills to pay, as well as all the divorce crap like lawyer fees to pay… and I’m still buying clothes. It’s retarded, because there aren’t enough days in the year to wear what I have, without washing anything… and my evenings are spent in slothy nudity… and still I find myself buying clothes. I went into H&M yesterday afternoon after whingeing my way out of working double “cause I had important shit to do” and the intention was to buy some more comfy little shorts. I should never have entered that shop. I should have known better than to think I could go in for one unnecessary item and not come out with 5.
I hate fashion. I really hate the idea that we are all being shunted along in some arbitrary direction, being teased alternately with what we should and shouldn’t wear, only for it all to be turned on its head the next season. One year it’s, leggings are the ultimate no-no. Then it’s leggings are hot. Then it’s, Lindsay Lohan has a line of leggings out… do not wear leggings. I pretend I’m not influenced by this crap and I dress how I want, but something gets in and fucks with my head anyway. Look at this, for instance. I see this picture, and I’m all “oh my god that bikini is gorgeous, I’ll look so good in it.”
But it’s just a black bikini and I will NOT look good in it. What I want to buy is that creature’s awesome body and tan. (Although not her boobs)
I have a calvin klein asymetric swimsuit that still manages to taunt me from the back of my wardrobe. Stupid, effective advertising. Every month I try on that swimsuit and pose in front of the mirror, sucking it all in and angling myself in the most flattering position, only to give up in depression and vow to get up early every day for the rest of my life and make cucumber juice and munch on cress. And do sit ups. Which I try but just end up hurting my neck, so I give up on that too.
And then I go shopping to make me feel better, and I see these little shorts that are too small and pyjama-like to wear out in public but that would look really cool if I have some people over to my house for a party, and then don’t end up fucking any of them, but in the morning I want to get up and pretend I wore pyjamas to bed, and I make them all coffee and whoever my target was the night before will be all like, damn, she’s got awesome legs. So I buy them. (Although that hypothetical situation is about as unlikely as being trapped in a lift with a can of food I can open with my swiss army knife and impress my companions)
When I first enter the shop I’m mentally allowing myself a budget of 30 euros… two pairs of little comfy shorts and a couple of thongs… The thongs because I realise I really like wearing matching bra and undies and I’m hardly going to change bras every day, so I need more bottoms to go with the top. (That way, if I get into a mild traffic accident, I won’t have to spend my ambulance ride fretting over not being attractive to the emergency services)
Then I see these cool trousers for riding my bike around and pretending to be an active healthy member of society who takes care of their body. I extend the budget to 50. I remember how my mother liked those trousers too. I buy two pairs, and think, hey while I’m being generous as hell to the woman who dedicated her life to me, I deserve to splurge on this dress for myself. I do a mental calculation, and justify it with: If I was going grocery shopping, I would have spent this much anyway. Plus, if I had a better social life, this would be all gone in a night’s drinks and taxis. It’s cool. Ooh, self-warming face masks. Mine. All sense of budget has collapsed. I look at handbags and shoes. Shoes don’t fit. Handbags look cheap. What I really want is a leather briefcase with compartments for all my girl handbag clutter. Frantically scan the room for something else to buy. Find myself in the queue to pay, dissatisfied and feeling like I barely got anything good. At the checkout is a man, a hot man. I imagine he’s looking at my underwear purchase with the cold eye of someone who sees a lot of women buy a lot of underwear. I’m momentarily ashamed of my wide hips. I suck in my stomach… but stop. I have to stop acting like every man I see is sizing me up as a potential cock recipient. It’s incredibly nerve wracking.
I get home and empty my bag excitedly on the couch. Two pairs of underwear, two pairs of shorts, a dress I don’t like and two pairs of trousers. I regret buying those for my mother. I’ll have to pay postage. I wonder if they’re too big on me? It’s ok, she didn’t expect me to get her anything. Man I’m such a selfish dick.
I also bought a pestle and mortar and one of those curved knives for cutting herbs with a special rounded chopping board… although, since husband and I are no more, I have basically been cooking lentils and eating them out of the saucepan so why I’m buying expensive kitchen shit like this makes no sense. But it’s all about the fantasy situations in my head.
Also, the swiss army knife, although that has already more than paid for itself. I looked so badass eating my apple at work, I felt like Beyonce in “Survivor” with my multi purpose tool in hand, spearing the apple slices mercilesly while customers faltered in their intentions to waste my time. But I buy shit all the time to prepare me for imaginary situations that never happen. I won’t spend a cent on important stuff like fixing my laptop which is pretty much heating my apartment at this point… last night I tried to take it apart to clean the fan (I’ve never done this before) but regretably had not purchased the swiss army knife with the correct screwdriver, so hacked at the screws for a while, disfiguring them and probably voiding my warranty, and eventually gave up, left the cover wonky and went back to watching Psych. I’m nearly done with season 5 now… don’t know what I’ll do with my time now. Maybe clean my apartment so the fan doesn’t get clogged with some much crap. Or I could sort through some of my clothes I never wear. Or make curtains for the kitchen. I’ll probably just go back to playing Fallout: New Vegas and frightening myself to death with the background noises. But at least I have those little shorts. If the gas company sends a bad porno- style man to take the reading from my meter, I can open the door looking like I just stepped out of a sorority pillow fight…
Actually, whatever happened to porn with cheesy storylines? I hate how they just cut scene to the penetration nowadays. I miss those well-endowed pizza delivery men and women who take showers while expecting deliveries.