//it's all in the jiggle//
I hate the whole process of buying new clothes...
My butt looks good in nothing.
In all fairness, it might just be the angle from which I’m looking. But if the merchandise doesn’t comes across as appealing from my vantage point, then who else is going to want to check it out.
As a five year old, shopping with your mom is a rather emotionally taxing experience. And it’s not just the shopping that does the irreparable damage; it’s the process as a whole... beginning in the parking lot. Many can testify to the horror that is the span of time immediately following the removal of the keys from the ignition and the moment you’re actually allowed to exit the vehicle. I’m not sure if it’s a “Parenting 101” tactic taught immediately following conception, but there’s really no better way to put the fear of God into your child than to linger indefinitely in a car with the A/C turned off as the summer sun heats up the inside like a bag of popcorn. With beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead and your mother’s eyes turning from their natural peaceful green to smoldering fireballs you are promised that any inappropriate behavior within the store will certainly result in your death by timeouts.
In this moment, before your feet have even touched the parking lot pavement you experience one of life’s greatest conundrums. This journey you have embarked upon has no good ending, and the real kicker is that you didn’t even want to come in the first place. Sometimes I think 75% of the trouble I got into growing up was the direct result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What kills me is that those places and times were determined meticulously and forcefully by the very person who later had me bent over their knee. And they say there is such a thing as justice...
You enter the store and just as abruptly as your pupil’s dilate and adjust to the fluorescent lighting your nasal cavities are overwhelmed by the stench of new fabric doused in chemicals used to prolong color and kill brain cells. The doors close behind you as you’re snatched out of your toxic daze and pulled in every direction that you really don’t want to go. You soon find that your poor feet can’t keep pace with this monster whose got grip of your hand. You begin to open the lines of communication between you and God. Shopping can be such a spiritual experience.
You finally come to a stop in the Boy’s section, and you find that today is the worst of all shopping days. Today you are in search of a new pair of jeans.
(I must inform you now that my mom grew up the middle child of five in a rather small house. Unfortunately for me, her childhood development didn’t spend too much time in the area of personal space and modesty, and I got to reap the benefits of such an upbringing.)
The mortifying climax of this shopping experience comes to a head as your mom’s frantic sifting through the clothing rack produces a pair of pants matching your measurements. In a sort of adolescent outer-body experience you watch in slow motion as you are compelled to drop trouser right there in the middle of the store displaying all your spiritual gifts to any curious onlookers. You look on in trepidation as she crams your stumpy little lower extremities into a pair of denim jeans with an elastic waistband only to realize halfway into the procedure that her little man, who is a tad bit on the husky side, needs to make the move up to the next weight-class.
So the whole nightmare restarts, except this time you’re left there pant-less and ashamed of yourself hoping the next pair is the right pair. You see no end in sight, and all the while you can’t help but think that you never wanted to be here in the first place, and your probably going to have to have a “talk” with your dad when you get home.
But alas! The faithful moment arrives when you effortlessly slip into a pair of jeans. Your head bobs up and down as your mom seals the deal with the signature jiggle from the back belt loop. Euphoria sets in, she continues to tug, and a smirk comes across your face. The shopping experience has now become your own and you imagine all the great things you will accomplish in these jeans... First Day of School, the building of a fort, playing tackle football, working on the car with your dad...
She continues to tug from all sides now, leaving no loop un-tugged. She’s just checking to make sure they fit right, but you knew they did from the very first jiggle. Five minutes ago you would have protested, but now you're just looking to make her feel important.
jared.
My butt looks good in nothing.
In all fairness, it might just be the angle from which I’m looking. But if the merchandise doesn’t comes across as appealing from my vantage point, then who else is going to want to check it out.
As a five year old, shopping with your mom is a rather emotionally taxing experience. And it’s not just the shopping that does the irreparable damage; it’s the process as a whole... beginning in the parking lot. Many can testify to the horror that is the span of time immediately following the removal of the keys from the ignition and the moment you’re actually allowed to exit the vehicle. I’m not sure if it’s a “Parenting 101” tactic taught immediately following conception, but there’s really no better way to put the fear of God into your child than to linger indefinitely in a car with the A/C turned off as the summer sun heats up the inside like a bag of popcorn. With beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead and your mother’s eyes turning from their natural peaceful green to smoldering fireballs you are promised that any inappropriate behavior within the store will certainly result in your death by timeouts.
In this moment, before your feet have even touched the parking lot pavement you experience one of life’s greatest conundrums. This journey you have embarked upon has no good ending, and the real kicker is that you didn’t even want to come in the first place. Sometimes I think 75% of the trouble I got into growing up was the direct result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What kills me is that those places and times were determined meticulously and forcefully by the very person who later had me bent over their knee. And they say there is such a thing as justice...
You enter the store and just as abruptly as your pupil’s dilate and adjust to the fluorescent lighting your nasal cavities are overwhelmed by the stench of new fabric doused in chemicals used to prolong color and kill brain cells. The doors close behind you as you’re snatched out of your toxic daze and pulled in every direction that you really don’t want to go. You soon find that your poor feet can’t keep pace with this monster whose got grip of your hand. You begin to open the lines of communication between you and God. Shopping can be such a spiritual experience.
You finally come to a stop in the Boy’s section, and you find that today is the worst of all shopping days. Today you are in search of a new pair of jeans.
(I must inform you now that my mom grew up the middle child of five in a rather small house. Unfortunately for me, her childhood development didn’t spend too much time in the area of personal space and modesty, and I got to reap the benefits of such an upbringing.)
The mortifying climax of this shopping experience comes to a head as your mom’s frantic sifting through the clothing rack produces a pair of pants matching your measurements. In a sort of adolescent outer-body experience you watch in slow motion as you are compelled to drop trouser right there in the middle of the store displaying all your spiritual gifts to any curious onlookers. You look on in trepidation as she crams your stumpy little lower extremities into a pair of denim jeans with an elastic waistband only to realize halfway into the procedure that her little man, who is a tad bit on the husky side, needs to make the move up to the next weight-class.
So the whole nightmare restarts, except this time you’re left there pant-less and ashamed of yourself hoping the next pair is the right pair. You see no end in sight, and all the while you can’t help but think that you never wanted to be here in the first place, and your probably going to have to have a “talk” with your dad when you get home.
But alas! The faithful moment arrives when you effortlessly slip into a pair of jeans. Your head bobs up and down as your mom seals the deal with the signature jiggle from the back belt loop. Euphoria sets in, she continues to tug, and a smirk comes across your face. The shopping experience has now become your own and you imagine all the great things you will accomplish in these jeans... First Day of School, the building of a fort, playing tackle football, working on the car with your dad...
She continues to tug from all sides now, leaving no loop un-tugged. She’s just checking to make sure they fit right, but you knew they did from the very first jiggle. Five minutes ago you would have protested, but now you're just looking to make her feel important.
jared.
Labels: life, short stories
Just wanted to let you know that I am thoroughly enjoying reading your work....thank you so much for sharing.
Posted by
Alice Kildaire |
9:22 PM
i laughed out loud...and i am sitting by myself, thank goodness because i would have embarrassed myself.
Posted by
christie |
7:33 PM