July 11
See that shoe? See it? Sketchers. I love Sketchers. Behold this. See how much they're priced? Do you? Do you? Ask me how much I paid for mine, go on, ask me! Okay . Ready? Sit down. Six dollars. Oh, yeah. I am the Shoe Queen. Bow to me, slaves. It's funny, too, how getting a bargain changes my outlook. I'd seen the shoes in the sale rack, they called to me. I answered. I noted the price, $49.99. I tried them on. A little big, but whatever, that's why I wear socks. I check the box. No sale sticker! I rationalize. "Well, I kind of need shoes, and I do really like these. They're worth 50 dollars. I like these shoes 50 dollars." I check other boxes. They are the only pair. I walk up to the counter with them. Pleasant chit chattery with the check out woman. She has no idea the cost of the shoe. She summons a man from the department. He fires his laser gun deal at the box. Six. Dollars. I am suddenly overjoyed. Everything else I'd purchased (3 bras, 5 pairs of underwear!) was better because of the 6 dollar Sketchers. Everything was great! I'd been giving this whole new outlook, all because I got this treMENdous bargain on some shoes. I clutched my bag full of stuff and giggled my way to the car. "My underwear cost twice as much as my shoes!" "My bra? FOUR TIMES AS MUCH!! I am THE BOMB." I got to my car all excited, and sat there, wondering who I could call to tell. As I came up blank, I realized, again something I've been thinking of. I need more girlfriends. I need local girlfriends, the kind who will get excited for me when I stumble across 6 dollar shoes. Someone who will be happy for me when I get a bra that fits really well and doesn't dig into my shoulders and doesn't leave half my boob hanging out. I need someone who will go from store to store with me, discussing the relative merits of Macy's vs. Filene's. Of the Trumbull mall vs. West Farms. I need someone to tell me to put down the vomity pink sparkly shirt because everyone knows that pink is wrong and evil, and to whisk me off quickly to the nearest eating and drinking establishment to sit me down for a feeding and watering because obviously, I have had a stroke if I am picking up anything pink. There are things you simply can't do with a guy. A guy does not want to hear you discuss mixed blend fabrics. A guy does not understand the sorrow and horror of seeing yourself, just you and yourself, under the unforgiving dressing room light, trying on a bra--in your normal size--which is now, for some reason--one size too small and your gross old underwear which is the reason you're out underwear shopping to begin with. Is that a mustache? Where did that lump come from? Jesus, did I always have that much flab there? Holy christ, are my pores oily. My roots are like 5 inches long. Goddammit, a new pimple? I NEED to get back to the gym. What, did my boobs grow overnight? I am so not buying matching underwear for this thing. Do I really NEED a Wonderbra? What is up with this shirt? Why won't it button around my hips? Oh, I see. I see. That's how this is going to be. Look, pants. I don't care what you say. You are going to fit. You DO fit, but, ah, you are 10 inches too long! Ugh, this color makes me look like the Undead. Don't get that. You may think it looks cute, but it doesn't. You may think that that little ride up you're feeling will ease as they get broken in, but it won't. You may love the color and feel of that bra, but you will never get away from that fact that it gives you a pointy, rocket like rack. You may love that 100 dollar silk shirt, and it may look and feel like a thousand tender rabbits are rubbing all over you, but you know that silk makes you sweat like mad in the summer and makes you shivering cold in the winter.
Bottom line? I'm a woman who gets along better with men, but most men don't give a shit about the joy of a really cheap name brand shoe.
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Time has told me
You're a rare rare find
A troubled cure
For a troubled mindAnd time has told me
Not to ask for more
Someday our ocean
Will find its shoreSo I`ll leave the ways that are making me be
What I really don't want to be
Leave the ways that are making me love
What I really don't want to loveTime has told me
You came with the dawn
A soul with no footprint
A rose with no thornYour tears they tell me
There's really no way
Of ending your troubles
With things you can sayAnd time will tell you
To stay by my side
To keep on trying
'til there's no more to hideSo leave the ways that are making you be
What you really don't want to be
Leave the ways that are making you love
What you really don't want to loveTime has told me
You're a rare rare find
A troubled cure
For a troubled mindAnd time has told me
Not to ask for more
For some day our ocean
Will find its shore