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Banbury Cross

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Post details: Tis the season

Tis the season

In the life of an average garden-variety guy, only one event is more terrifying than clothes shopping and that is clothes shopping with a woman seven days before Christmas.

For the record: I love women. I think they are higher creatures and I fully endorse Goethe's "Das Ewig-Weibliche zieht uns hinan". But zipping through a fashionable boutique with a female friend feels like being strapped to Superman's belt in the middle of a major inter-galactic battle. The moment a lady crosses the threshold of an outlet carrying textile products, she turns into a four star general with supercomputer memory that can simultaneously direct the battle for elegance, asses the quality of sewing, spot grammatical errors in the ironing instructions, point out that the proportions on the list of raw materials don't add up to 100%, and all that while informing you what exact color of shoes her neighbor just bought at the store next door.

When I buy clothes by myself, I gingerly enter the store area, snatch the first non-abhorrent article of clothing that vaguely fits my needs and my body (preferably in triplicate so I don't have to visit the cursed place again for at least a year), quickly pay up and get the hell out of there. When I am accompanied by a woman, she redresses this simple procedure into an intricate ritual that involves looking at several differently colored options, dancing in front of the mirror a lot, exchanging insider banter with a store clerk and periodically extracting my opinion, which I expeditiously verbalize as a drawn out "hmmmmmm" with a fake French accent.

When I buy clothes by myself, I love them in the store, but the moment I bring them home, they turn into pieces of disfigured rags that car mechanics would hesitate to use. When a woman chooses the clothes, they look so-so in the store, but once I put them on they magically come to life. I don't get it. I must be completely missing a whole gene. Maybe two if shoe shopping skills are encoded separately.

So you might imagine how I felt yesterday, when I was lured into an inconspicuously looking door on the M Street that was overarched by the inscription "Georgetown Park". A street shop on the surface, but a huge built-in mall on the inside. Kind of like that underground forge in the Lord of the Rings where Orcs hammered out their evil swords. A four story maze filled with super chic vogue shrines, featuring monikers reminiscent of South Pacific Islands and price-tags expressed in Italian liras. Or so it seemed, although I came to realize that not all that is overpriced is actually elegant. Perhaps some of the garments were meant for Middle Earth.

I am not sure how, but I survived, and I think, in two or three days, I will be fine.


Comment from: Hana Koulova [Visitor]
Ztratila jsem tvuj e-mail a jelikoz jsem dnes trenovala anglictinu na lednovou zkousku a vyuzila jsem k tomu tve stranky, chtela bych ti touto cestou poprat hodne stesti, zdravi a uspechu do noveho roku. Tak zase priste v metru! Hanka
Permalink 12/31/06 @ 17:39
Comment from: Sheryl [Visitor]
Go shopping with me will have another experience to write about
Permalink 02/17/10 @ 02:31

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