A Little Shopping

Who would think that the fish sticks would be in the fish section rather than the frozen food section? The frozen peas are not in the vegetable section, the frozen bagels are not in the bread section, so what's with the fish sticks? And why did the woman look at me like I was an idiot when, after canvassing the entire frozen food section twice (wouldn't it make sense for them to be next to the chicken fingers?), I finally asked where the fish sticks were?

Then how do you figure out where the chocolate syrup is? Following some different instinct than the fish sticks, I assumed that the chocolate syrup would be next to the ice cream, perhaps because that's where it was in Red State Capital City Suburb. But it wasn't there, so I canvassed the entire store, once. Then I asked someone, and it was next to the coffee and tea, which I suppose makes sense if you are thinking about chocolate milk, which, indeed, we are.

Supermarket logic confounds me.

Speaking of jeans--I know, we weren't speaking of jeans, but it seemed like a good segue--I finally bought some. The ever-supportive, ever-entertaining, and ever-lovely Lucy and I hit the mall, accompanied by the power team of M and Mabel. We let M and Mabel shop by themselves with their own money--and a watch and cellphone. I felt almost a little weepy watching them trot off together, and I knew I'd feel really guilty if they got abducted, but, hey, they weren't, they bought tons of junk we would have tried to talk them out of, and a good time was had by all.

The Gap was a total bust for Lucy and me (is there anyone who can wear those jeans? if the long, lean Lucy and the short, squat me both struck out, I doubt it), but I scored at Old Navy with a pair of jeans and a pair of cords, both on sale (M thinks those embroidered pockets make me look really hip; I think they look really stupid but the pants were so soft and comfortable and on sale that I decided to go with her interpretation). Lucy, alas, went home empty-handed.

Which brings us to the issue of low-waist jeans (low-rise jeans? you know the ones I mean). Though such jeans may have been invented for the likes of Hollywood starlets and high school nymphets, the secret truth of the matter is that they are great for midlife moms. The waist sits right on your hips, under that bit of leftover baby belly, and the comfort is enormous. Except for the problem of the exposed butt. The one you make fun of when you see it on someone else. The one that emerges whenever you bend over or sit down. The one that had me yanking on the waist of the cords all day, despite my knowledge that it was hopeless. The one that appears to be the price of comfort.

Oh my god, maybe I am turning into my mom! (Her mantra: comfort uber alles.)