Ah, long weekends. The Hubster decided to take yesterday off to make it an extra long weekend, and we had a wonderful day together as a family. We went for a run, played at a new park we found in our neighbourhood, went swimming, and spent a fortune buying things we probably didn’t need at Costco.
Both the kids were tired, and by some happy miracle they were both in bed asleep by 8:30. One of our neighbours came over to visit with the Hubster, so I decided to go do something for myself: I went shopping.
When you have kids, going to a store alone is almost as relaxing as going to a spa. Shopping with kids means having a list of exactly what I need, and a map of which aisles to hit first to make it as short a trip as possible. Usually I am grabbing things on the fly, tossing an item into my cart while I am already seeking out the next. But instead of racing the cart through the store trying to finish shopping before Ruby has a melt down or Hank needs to eat again, I was actually able to stop and look at things.
Pretty things. Frivolous things. Things for me.
Going to a store alone means that I was actually able to browse through shoes and clothing and have time to try them on at the store. *swoon*
While I shopped, I had my purse on in my cart so I wouldn’t have to carry it on my shoulder. Two weeks ago I did something to my left shoulder and it has been killing me ever since. I’ve had two massages and it’s getting better, but my mobility is still limited. I have a hard time putting my hair back in a pony tail or lifting that arm above my head.
As I browsed through the store, I found a few cute tops that I wanted to try on. As it was after 9pm the store was pretty quiet, so rather than go to the fitting rooms, I just found a full-length mirror and tried them on in the racks over my clothes. I found a new pajama set that I loved, as well as a new running top. I also spied a cute pull over denim shirt that I really liked. It’s different from anything I own, so I thought I’d try it on and see how it looked.
It slipped over my head fairly easily, and I really liked how it looked on. It’s fitted, and looked a little nicer than my usual “mom-uniform” of shorts + cotton t-shirt.
Then I went to take it off.
I started to pull the shirt up from the bottom so I could lift it over my head, but I immediately realized that denim does not give and stretch like cotton. I got the bottom up as high as my chest before my sore shoulder loudly screamed, “NOPE.”
I tried to gently pull a different way, to which my sore shoulder responded, “NOPE. Not happening.”
So, here I am in a clothing rack at Target, stuck in a denim top that I can’t seem to get out of. Of course, this is when all of the women in the store decide to come shopping in the section I’m in. I began to look around for a quieter spot to struggle out of this shirt, and, not seeing one, do what any self-respecting woman who is stuck in a shirt she hasn’t paid for does: I dropped to the floor and hid behind a rack.
Now I’m hunched between my cart and a rack of clothes, desperately trying to think of a solution. I tried to shimmy out of the shirt again, but my shoulder prevented any success.
By this point I was beginning to panic and was trying to find alternate solutions. I thought about simply wearing it to the front and telling the clerk that I loved the shirt SO MUCH that I just had to wear it out of the store, but it just didn’t feel right. Then I thought about trying to find a sales associate to see if they could help me out of the shirt, but of course, every associate in the women’s clothing section at that time was male.
Then I thought, “I can just ask one of the other women shopping to help me out of my shirt! They will understand my plight.” But as I scanned around, all I saw were couples happily shopping together.
Where were the other young mothers who had just put their children to bed and needed a wild shopping adventure to soothe their souls!?
As my panic kept rising, I decided that I had to get out of the shirt no matter what. I pretended like it was totally normal to be wearing this shirt that totally didn’t match the shorts I had on or my actual shirt that was underneath it and kept shopping. A few minutes later I saw a window of opportunity where the happy shopping couples and male associates were all busy and out of my section and decided to go for it.
I tried to gently pull it off again, but my shoulder screamed in protest.
I knew my next attempt would be my last–it was either coming off or I was wearing it out of the store. I grabbed on to the hem of the shirt and got ready to yank. For some reason, my body decided that the best position to do this would be bending over so far that I was almost upside down. I took a deep breath, braced myself against the mirror and pulled. I nearly cried out from the pain in my shoulder, but I finally felt the shirt go over my head and it dropped on the floor.
I closed my eyes and laughed a little in relief, momentarily oblivious to the fact that several shoppers were eying ‘the crazy lady who was stripping in the aisles’ rather suspiciously. When I opened my eyes several people looked away quickly, so they had obviously been watching my struggle. I blushed about eight different shades of red before I threw the shirt in my cart and ran out of the women’s section.
It was only later that it occurred to me that I could have simply gone to the fitting rooms to try and take the shirt off privately instead of diving in between clothing racks and putting on a show.
Oh well. I still got to go shopping by myself.
Totally worth it.