Frustration
I’d been laying around all day, having whiny phone conversations, finding nothing in the refrigerator, not getting any work done. I decided a little retail therapy wasn’t only in order – it was absolutely necessary. As always, I have nothing to wear.
I got into my nearly gasless car and drove through the swelter to Talbot’s Outlet, the only decent clothing store I haven’t recently tried. The fuckers closed half an hour before I got there. Who closes at five on a Sunday? Don’t these people know I only have two days to shop per week? But I had half an hour left to shop at Steinmart. In the dressing room, I couldn’t escape the teen-aged salespersons’ conversation.
“Dude, do I look fat in this?”
“Uh uh. No. Well, you look kind of big in the shorts, but the top looks good.”
“I know, huh? The shorts are up my ass.”
“You think they’re too tight? Uh uh. They’re too long.”
“Nah, hell no, dude. They’re tight! My big ass got fat.”
“Hold on, now. Ask Almadaya. Almadaya, come over here.”
“What?”
“Dude, don’t I look fat as hell in these shorts? They’re up my ass.”
“No… they’re not too tight. Girl, what are you talking about? Did you try rolling them up?”
“Like how?”
“Yeah, she’s right. You need to roll them up so they’re shorter.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Again. Shorter.”
“Dude, nah uh, that’s too short! That shows how fat my ass is! These shorts are too tight!”
“Girl, what you talking about? That’s how I wear my shorts. Shoot, I wear ’em shorter than that. I don’t see no bulges. They’re just too long.”
“Alma? Don’t I look fat?”
“Well… I’m not saying you look fat, but…”
“Almadaya, she is not fat.”
“Well… she doesn’t look fat to you. But to me… I mean, she’s bigger than me.”
“Girl, everybody’s bigger than you.”
“Girl, no they’re not. Shit, I’ve gotten fat.”
“Dude, you’re not fat. You’re little!”
“Nah uh. Shit, I’m almost as big as you in my waist!”
“Dude, no way you’re as big as me. Except maybe in your boobs.”
“Yeah, she do got some big old boobs.”
Amidst this scintillating slice-of-life banter, I tried on seven blouses, each cheaper looking than the last.
“Attention, Steinmart guests. The time is now 5:50.” boomed the intercom. I walked out purchaseless. Old Navy next door was open until seven. I went in and wasted more of my life trying to puzzle out their sizing system. Most of their clothing doesn’t fit me, no matter what size I try. Last weekend it was all too small. Today it was all too large. My size doesn’t exist for them, so they don’t instruct the third-world countries to sew it.
Clouds gathered as I got into the car. By the time I got on the freeway and headed towards food, a freaking monsoon had unleashed itself upon the city. Flash flooding, horizontal rain, the works. The $1.77 gas station had lines three cars long. I got five gallons for $1.97 each somewhere else. The rain made it very hard to see and I was lucky to make it home without being killed by a hydroplaning SUV.
Two minutes after I took off my shoes and started making dinner, the rain stopped. I spilled tuna fish on my shirt. The cat wouldn’t let me eat in peace, there on the couch in front of the TV. The Simpsons wasn’t funny at all. In fact, it was horrible. Who the hell is writing it now? The cat licked the tuna oil spot on my shirt, then inadvertantly clawed the living hell out of my neck. I picked him up and tossed him on the floor, harder then I normally do when he bites my fingers or won’t stop trying to lick my mouth, over and over and over again (and tossing him away never works). This time, though, he fell against the hard plastic of the new spinning ball toy I just bought him. He yowled and slunk away.
I felt bad. I hugged him and apologized. He didn’t purr. Now he’s sleeping under the table, next to me but alone.
I have a headache. I’m hungry. I have nothing to wear.
The claw marks on my neck and fingers sting. I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. I didn’t get any of my real work done here.
Should I get into my car again and make the rain return? Should I lock the cat out of my room tonight? How many hours til I can go to bed without feeling like a loser?
I’m frustrated. And nothing I’ve written here is the reason why.
