Clothes Shopping

Son called me last night inquiring as to what I was going to be doing today. Whenever one of my children (or any other relative, in fact) calls inquiring as to my schedule, they’re not really interested in my schedule. They’re interested in how soon I can rearrange my schedule in order to accommodate whatever it is that I should be doing for them if I would have been a good enough mother/aunt/daughter/former mother-in-law to have thought of it first. Luckily for them, I’m rarely involved in anything really important like robbing convenience stores over the weekend.

My weekend revolves more around restoring the house to minimal standards of cleanliness in order not to have a big ol’ sign posted outside my house announcing “Condemned: Not fit for human habitation”. It is a close thing, though. If a house inspector person would come through here Friday evening, that sign would go up for sure. Which is why I would use the 12-gauge on said person rather than allow them into my house for an inspection on Friday evening on account of I’d rather go to prison for murder than having my house condemned. Around here, killing a government official nosing around where he ain’t wanted would be forgiven, even applauded. Having a messy house, not so much.

So when my son queried as to what I was doing tomorrow, I was able to tell him that whatever it was that I was gonna do was obviously wrong, and he could just go ahead and inform me as to the error of my ways. Son informed me that he needed some new clothes and asked would I go shopping for him?

Ah. Son has been working 12 and 14 hour days for awhile. He left specific instructions with me as to the clothing items (from Carhartt). He left $200 for me to get him a couple new shirts and pair of pants. He left a pair of old raggedy pants and a shirt of the specific type he wanted on a bag on the porch. Simple, right?

WRONG! I got to the store and the specific shirt that he wanted had been discontinued. They had another shirt to replace it. I felt it. It felt slick and uncomfortable. Ick. I wouldn’t want to wear it. It wasn’t in his size, either. FINE. I went on to the pants. The specific pair that he wanted was no longer made. An alternative pair was available, but nothing anywhere near his size. In fact, they didn’t even make his size anymore.

Maybe there just aren’t enough working men left in the country that need sturdy working clothes.


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