This Week's Super Bargain Price Slashing Event Includes Total And Complete Crap

Today I woke up at 7 am.

And then proceeded to hit snooze, every 7 minutes, until 9:30am.

I'd had every intention of getting up early, full of purposefulness and vigor, and hefting my two baskets of dirty clothes to the laundromat. Because I've gone FIVE WEEKS without washing clothes.

I've run through every pair of underwear, every bra (washed in the sink at least four times), every pair of pants (worn until they could walk, all by themselves) every shirt, blouse and sweater that wasn't made of wool, angora or other hot, itchy material (I will roll up sleeves, but I WILL NOT wear an angora turtleneck in summer. I REFUSE.) and I knew, I KNEW, I had exhausted every avenue possible. There were no more outfits, however unmatchy or unattractive they may be. It was done.

But somehow, in my sleep-clouded brain, I decided to hit the snooze button.

Eighty. Thousand. Times.

So what did I do? I put on pajama bottoms and drove to Old Navy. Because they don't care if
you shop in pajama bottoms. As long as your wobbly bits are covered, you're straight.
I spent 30 minutes in there. I tried on 12 pairs of pants and 9 shirts. In fact, I think I can in good conscience skip my workout today, IT WAS THAT HOT IN THE DRESSING ROOM. (Icky mental image. Red-faced people trying on clothes. gag)

I found ONE pair of pants. ONE.

The time: 10:50am.

Work starts at: 11:00am.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Stand at front of store, use laser eyes (LASER EYES, ACTIVATE!) and locate black v-neck sweatery-thing in very back of store. Hangar tag says XL. I've worn the same size in Old Navy for YEARS. A black, stretchy v-neck sweatery-thing is a guaranteed fit in an XL. Not too clingy.
Not too loose. Perfect.

I get in my car and take off the t-shirt I slept in (modesty DOES NOT prevail when one is desperate) pull on black sweatery thing while yanking off tag and pulling off sticker. Push back seat and lean it back -- all the better to get my pants on. YOUNG TEENAGE KID AT 12 O'CLOCK! ABORT! ABORT!

Nonchalantly cover self with large Old Navy bag and smile very large, very scary smile at blonde teenage kid.

Kid gives me strange look that implies "scary lady with no pants on is staring at me. GAH!"

Kid goes to his mothers van and gets his backpack out of the back. Van is OF COURSE parked directly beside my passenger door.

I smooth the Old Navy bag over my legs and attempt to cover my scary white ass. Continue scary smile at young blond kid, who decides it may be in his best interest to hurry back to Mommy and report scary lady.

Finish buttoning pants in stuffiness of car, it's black paint magnifying the heat that is threatening to melt my very atoms of existence.

Drive to work, park. Throw on shoes. Walk briskly and with great purpose across parking lot, down stairs, across 2nd parking lot, in front doors and then BAM!

I see a reflection of myself in automatic sliding doors.

GAH!

Shirt cannot possibly be XL! Shirt is more like MAMMOTH XL!! Very unattractive! Pull tag around to nose area and attempt to focus eyes on tag that will tell me what size I am currently wearing.

THREE XTRA LARGES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHA????????

But hangar tag said XL..... BASTARDS! Mismarking incompetents that run Old Navy!
Now am stuck with gray pants-- they fit, thank god-- and a giant, smarmy black sweater! Have removed tax so hope of returning is lost. Not that I could anyway... as cannot possibly pass off bra as a very small tank top gone wrong. I'm pretty sure they'd see RIGHT THROUGH THAT. Literally.

Head hurts.