Superficially yours

Dear reader,

It must be evident by now that I am a woman of deeply held beliefs, strong ideals and profound insights. And so I share the following with you:

I recently purchased some store-brand denims from the W-Shoppe. (The monstrously huge store that shall not be named). I went for this particular brand because when I stumbled across it a few years ago, I found they fit really well … and were super cheap. I went back soon after and bought two more pairs, but for some unfathomable reason, in larger sizes. I haven’t been comfortable in them as a result, which fact resulted in me wearing out the Perfect pair, and sadly had to toss them during the moving frenzy of this summer. In my search for replacements, I discovered that the W-Shoppe has discontinued the Perfect jean, offering a Near Perfect and Not So Cheap replacement. I was happy with the fit of the first pair I bought, and thought I would be wise to buy a second pair in case of an unforeseen future denim drought. It is common these days for trousers to come in different cuts. Stores assign cute names like the Katrina (low waist, snug thigh, boot cut); the Doreen (low waist, relaxed hip and thigh, flared leg); the Josephine (natural waist, straight leg) and so on. The Nearly Perfect jean I bought was one sort (low waist, straight leg) of a certain circumference and length. The second pair I bought was of a different style (natural waist (thought it would be a treat to not have to constantly pull my pants over my bum to keep my knickers private), boot cut - which I have found to be best for my less than towering stature) with the identical girth and inseam as the first. I have since discovered that the natural waist has the same tendency to droop as the low-rise, and for some odd reason I’m walking on the cuffs. They’re supposed to be the same length as the first Nearly Perfect pair I bought, so I wonder: does more material at the torso end equal more material at the foot end too?

I’ve had a similar experience with a certain undergarment. I found a particular one that looked comfy, functional, and cheap. I tried it out at home, loved it, and so went back to buy a duplicate, only to take it home, try it out, and find it didn’t feel at all as good or fit as well as the first one, though it is the same brand and size. Hmmm.

Do you ever find clothes shopping to be frustrating? Why is there no sizing standard? Why do clothing manufacturers believe that every feminine form is identical? Why are fitting rooms lit by unkind florescence? Why are they called “fitting rooms” when things hardly ever “fit”?

To continue the topic of uncertain shopping, cosmetics, toiletries and feminine products provide a vast source of rant material. During my search for a torn nail remedy (which by the way ended thusly: the nail remains torn and vulnerable, whilst the glue is causing the skin on my other fingertips to peel off. Nice.) I tried to buy toner/astringent. There is one brand I particularly like and though the brand itself was represented among the overwhelming array of skin care options, their toner/astringent was not. So I had to find an alternative, which was an intimidating prospect. Not only are there many other brands, but each brand has many different formulations within many different steps of the skin care process. Like I said: intimidating. I wonder if the brand no longer produces the astringent, or if T’ranna just didn’t think my little ‘burb really needed it, and so didn’t ship it?

Not many purchases are straightforward these days. I recently bought a marine vessel-shaped sandwich from the people who helped Jordan (Justin? Jared? Jacob?) loose a bunch of weight years ago. All I wanted was a simple sandwich, so I selected what seemed simple to me: chicken ranch. The brightly coloured menu (all the sandwiches looked so happy) listed the ingredients: chicken, ranch dressing. I was prepared for having to choose the bread I wanted and the vegetable toppings, but I was not prepared for all the other questions I had to answer, and more than once, too, for three people were involved in preparing my chicken ranch marine vessel-shaped sandwich. When the first person asked me what kind of dressing I wanted, I wondered if maybe “ranch” referred to the fact that the chicken sacrificed for my gustatory delight had lived a happy life outdoors with his fellow pastoral creatures? I calmly replied that I thought I’d like to have ranch dressing. Seven choices later, I was asked by the second person what kind of dressing I’d like to have on my chicken ranch sandwich, and I’m afraid I wasn’t so polite with my answer. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was snippy, possibly even condescending (in the most haughty and annoying Lady Catherine De Burgh fashion) when I said something about how since I’d ordered a chicken RANCH marine vessel-shaped sandwich, I wanted RANCH dressing. Did I go too far? Surely I could have exercised a little self-control with the 12-year old behind the counter? I don’t feel bad about it though; I have merely determined to not patronise the place again. It’s far too stressful having to make so many decisions for what should be a very straightforward transaction.

I miss the days of good service, reliable and predictable products, and simplicity. Why can’t I just wash my face? Why must there be 3 steps? I just need a good shampoo; must I diagnose my various hair issues, balance them with the desired end result, and try to find The Perfect Match among all the different formulas? Have you shopped for toothpaste recently? Forget it! Do you want fresh breath, or tartar control? Whiter teeth or stronger enamel? Why do I have to make the choice? I thought the point of brushing my teeth was for all of those things!

Anyway. These are the deep thoughts on my mind today. What's on yours?