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Things that are very, very wrong
Sep. 12th, 2005 08:27 pm[Or, In Which Kat is Ill-Humored About Various Trivialities]
We had a heatwave here this weekend, temperatures up around 90, with much sticky humidity, and that was annoying enough to begin with. Today, though somewhat cooler, brought lashings of rain, and then steamy sunshine, and humidity going beyond stickiness and into the breathless zone. So after work, I decided (most uncharacteristically) to head off to the air-conditioned mall, cool down, and maybe nose around to see if anyone, by any remote chance, is selling pants this fall that I would consider putting on my body.
I arrived at the mall, stumbled into Marshall Fields, wiping sweat from my brow and plucking at my damp t-shirt, strolled through menswear (with my usual snarling resentment about all the well-cut, attractively-hued, restrainedly-tailored, decent-fabric-incorporating clothing men get to wear), and rode the elevator up into the women's department, where I was confronted--nay, surrounded--by . . .
Christmas decorations. Santas to the left of me, glass balls to the right of me, pine boughs and twinkle-lights and candy canes all about me.
I flinched. I staggered. I raised my hand to shield my eyes and muttered "Jesus wept." For bitter amusement, I hung out a few minutes in Shoes, and watched other shoppers arising on the elevators wincing in shock and horror as the spectacle met their eyes.
Because, honest to God, Marshall Fields? Today is September 12. We have not even gotten to autumn equinox yet. It is still more than three months, which is to say a fourth of a year, until Christmas. Is it totally Scrooge-like of me to say, in this extremity, damnation take the retail establishments of this country?
On top of which, there are still no pants anywhere I would consider putting on my body. And furthermore, in addition, the Fashion Gods have apparently decreed that all women's jackets shall henceforth be (a) short, (b) tight, and (c) composed of (i) dreadful plasticky synthetic fabrics in (ii) hideous colors. Damnation.
(And yes, I am still composing the Pants Rant, which I trust shall blister the hides of everyone involved in the women's clothing industry. Watch this space.)
ETA: Oh, whee, just discovered we're under a tornado watch here. That would explain the persistence of sticky breathless humidity, all right.
We had a heatwave here this weekend, temperatures up around 90, with much sticky humidity, and that was annoying enough to begin with. Today, though somewhat cooler, brought lashings of rain, and then steamy sunshine, and humidity going beyond stickiness and into the breathless zone. So after work, I decided (most uncharacteristically) to head off to the air-conditioned mall, cool down, and maybe nose around to see if anyone, by any remote chance, is selling pants this fall that I would consider putting on my body.
I arrived at the mall, stumbled into Marshall Fields, wiping sweat from my brow and plucking at my damp t-shirt, strolled through menswear (with my usual snarling resentment about all the well-cut, attractively-hued, restrainedly-tailored, decent-fabric-incorporating clothing men get to wear), and rode the elevator up into the women's department, where I was confronted--nay, surrounded--by . . .
Christmas decorations. Santas to the left of me, glass balls to the right of me, pine boughs and twinkle-lights and candy canes all about me.
I flinched. I staggered. I raised my hand to shield my eyes and muttered "Jesus wept." For bitter amusement, I hung out a few minutes in Shoes, and watched other shoppers arising on the elevators wincing in shock and horror as the spectacle met their eyes.
Because, honest to God, Marshall Fields? Today is September 12. We have not even gotten to autumn equinox yet. It is still more than three months, which is to say a fourth of a year, until Christmas. Is it totally Scrooge-like of me to say, in this extremity, damnation take the retail establishments of this country?
On top of which, there are still no pants anywhere I would consider putting on my body. And furthermore, in addition, the Fashion Gods have apparently decreed that all women's jackets shall henceforth be (a) short, (b) tight, and (c) composed of (i) dreadful plasticky synthetic fabrics in (ii) hideous colors. Damnation.
(And yes, I am still composing the Pants Rant, which I trust shall blister the hides of everyone involved in the women's clothing industry. Watch this space.)
ETA: Oh, whee, just discovered we're under a tornado watch here. That would explain the persistence of sticky breathless humidity, all right.