BklnQ

As of somewhere between 6 and 7 this morning (6:47 CST?) I will be 47-years-old. Cr*p.

I’ll leave it at that.

Not really. Cr*p.

AARGH

AARGH

AARGH

AARGH

AARGH

Cr*p.

Roosevelt Field was packed and there were only two clerks per store. And those were all rearranging displays. Every school on Long Island is either on spring break of lets out at 1:30. And t h e y a l l m o v e s o s l o w l y.

Otherwise, the clerk at Mexx was so cute I couldn’t look at him. And he probably was half my age. Seriously, AARGH.

When I was eighteen, I remember, I was so p*ssed that I could never find anything I liked in a 27″ waist. That lasted a few years. Then at some point I couldn’t find anything in a 29″ waist. I have no recollection of a 28″ waist. Then I came out (stress-reduction), moved to New York, got a job that actually paid, ate well and drank in public, and skipped right through 30″ and have struggled to keep 31″ (rather wide given my height, but the whole family looks the same from the back (easy to spot in the mall) so it’s not my fault).

There were five pairs of pants in Roosevelt Field mall in a 31″ waist that didn’t ride up to my nipples and didn’t make my ass look the size of Colorado, i.e., khaki. I bought all of them.

What does it say that Long Island’s Roosevelt Field Gap no longer carries Slim Fit pants?

Note to Tres: I’d seriously rather be at work than shopping. I have a secret hope: J will be overcome with an permanent urge to do all of my shopping and will gladly return anything I don’t like. I like buying things, but I hate shopping. I managed five pairs of pants, five shirts, three packages of underwear and three pieces of Godiva chocolate in under two hours.

And Banana Republicanism still sucks.