Our Trip to The Gap

Mark needed new shorts.  We went to The Gap, because they were having a buy two, get one free sale.  Easy, right?

Wrong.

First off, I don't claim to be cool, and I do follow advertising enough to know that there are lots of hipsters on Gap commercials.  But I guess we labored under the misconception that we could find some nice, conservative shorts there with a minimum of effort, and there'd be a lot of fellow shoppers like us there.  Uh-uh.

We walked into the store to find one painfully skinny girl holding up a pair of those new legging jeans to her equally painfully skinny friend saying, "I don't think you'd look fat in these."  Honestly, these girls would've looked anorexic in a burkha, so they're lucky I didn't go crazy and start shrieking at them about how their body images were all screwed up, how there's more to life than how you look, etc., etc.  I also fantasized about beating them about the head and shoulders with the headless mannequin modeling said legging jeans, but I didn't.  I'm working on my rage issues.

Anyway, we probably should've packed it up right there and walked out, but alas, it was a sale after all, and we did spot a rack of relatively normal shorts in very conservative colors toward the back of the store.  So we ventured in and picked out three pairs in Mark's size.

Then he had to try them on.

Here's the thing about my husband: he's kind of particular about what he wears.  Which is a little surprising, considering he's been wearing basically the same stuff since I've known him.  I'm guessing a typical guy trying on a pair of shorts takes what?  Three minutes?  "Yeah, they fit.  I'll take them."  Not Mark.  Oh, no.  He not only tries on the shorts, but then he has to tuck in his shirt, put his belt back on, put his shoes back on, and then come out of the dressing room to show me how they look.

Once for each pair of shorts.

I felt like I was in a low-budget version of "Project Runway."

I finally gave up walking around the store and shopping while he was in the dressing room, mostly because I feared mayhem would ensue if I ran into any other body-image-challenged youths. So I sat myself in the chair they have sitting outside the dressing room and waited, keeping myself amused by watching and listening to the people around me.

One of the salesgirls was pregnant, and she was running around the store like a trooper, hustling in and out of the dressing rooms, doing all that stuff that salesgirls do, except she did it with a smile on her face while lugging around at least 20 extra lbs.  Her, I liked.

Then there was the woman who was holding an infant I thought might be hers until I saw the actual mother come out of the dressing room in tears because she couldn't fit into the same size jeans she wore before.

New Mom: "I can't believe this.  These are twos.  TWOS.  I'll never be a zero again." Sniff.  "Did you feed her? Make sure you don't get formula on that outfit. It's new."

Old Mom: "Yes, I fed her.  And honey, you just need to do more sit-ups.  Get those jeans for now and they'll tide you over until you can get back into your zeros.  You gotta have goals, sweetie!"

During all this, I'm sitting in the chair looking--and feeling--like Jabba the Hutt.  It took everything I had not to say, while scratching my belly, "Yeah, I had me some o' them goals once.  But then I discovered they made Snickers Ice Cream bars, and it was all over."

But I didn't say that.  I'm working on my impulsivity while I'm working on my rage issues.  I'm busy.

Then Old Mom spotted the pregnant salesgirl, and the fun really began.

OM: "When are you due?"

PSG: "In two months."

OM: "Are you sure of the date?  Because you don't want to have a scheduled C-section if you're not.  My daughter had hers scheduled, and it was great, but there was another woman in the maternity ward who almost lost her baby because the dates were off.  You should have that checked."

PSG: (Nodding, wearing fake smile) "Thanks."

OM: "How much weight have you gained?"

PSG: (something unintelligible)

OM: "Are you exercising?  It's really hard to get your body back in shape after a baby.  Look at my daughter.  She's been wearing those shapeless dresses all summer, and she works out like a fiend.  It's sad."

Pause while OM flipped through a rack of sales shirts.

OM: "I was in labor with her for almost two days.  It was horrible.  I'm telling you, pain like you can't believe.   Then there's the added worry about what could be happening to your baby.  Do you have these in a small?  Oh, sure they have those ultrasounds and tests, but there are all kinds of things that could be going on that you'll never know until you see your baby.  Do these come in any other colors?"

Now, I was lucky enough to be pregnant twice, and, while it was a long time ago, I'm pretty sure that the last thing I wanted to hear, especially the first time, was the story of how horrible someone else's labor was.  And I didn't need any help imagining what sort of mayhem was taking place inside my womb. (cf: Joe Skoog) PSG handled it like a trooper, smiling and checking on sizes and finally extracting herself to go help some hapless guy who had to be told that the plaid shirt he picked out wasn't the same plaid as the shorts he saw on the other side of the store.  Fashion crisis averted.

In the meantime, NM was still in the midst of her own fashion crisis, trying to struggle into a pair of those horrible legging jeans and making these awful grunting noises that sounded like she was being beaten inside the dressing room.

Thank goodness Mark picked this moment to finally emerge in his original outfit (all tucked in and in perfect order, btw), so I didn't have to listen to or see the results of the gymnastics going on in NM's room.  Phew.

That night, while I made dinner, I imagined NM sitting at her table, nibbling on her meal of lettuce leaves and ice water, outlining her new Life Plan for Getting Back Into A Size Zero.  And her mother, glowing with the knowledge that she was able to share her vast knowledge with that poor, less fortunate pregnant woman.

Me? I was just happy there were brownies for dessert.