The joys of consumerism

So Michael and I went shopping over the weekend.

At the Salvation Army, I bought a bike for $20. I figure, I want a bike. I've wanted a bike. I will likely continue to want a bike. And if we stay in Chicago, then I'll have a bike. And if not, then I'll have a bike that I can donate to the church or to a family I know or something like that. The first bike I picked out (and it took me a minute to realize this) was the exact same bike I had in Murfreesboro. A teal Murray 10speed. But then I noticed that the back wheel was misalligned, so I had to get the purple Huffy 10speed instead, which is not nearly as sentimental to me, but, you know, what are you gonna do?

I also got several pairs of pants, since I am beginning to be lacking in pants-nice-enough-to-wear-to-work department. They all have holes or ink stains or both. The problem is, once I get a pair of pants that I like, I wear them for years. I still have the pair of brown denim pants that I got at Salvation Army right after I got a job at Lenscrafters. I was 19 then. And it's actually taken holes AND inkstains AND color fading to the point of no-way-does-this-look-professional-in-any-way-shape-or-form for me to even consider retiring them. They're just so durned comfortable. And I still have and wear those silver pants that I stole from Mary's closet and had to chop off four inches from the bottom because she's so much taller than me and they still drag the floor. But hey! Silver pants! You can't give those up. Ever.

The more immediate problem is that thift stores in Chicago are severely lacking in dressing rooms, so I never know how things are going to look on me until I get home. The result is that I bought one pair of pants that I hate because they fit all the way up to my belly button, and I cannot stand pants that come up to my belly button. And I have one pair of blue windbreakers that are neat, but I don't really know what I'm supposed to wear with them, so I probably look rather mismatched when I wear them, but they're so comfortable and cool, which is nice in the warm Chicago heat since so many places I spend time at have no air conditioner. And then--- I have two pair of pants that fit me. Snug. Right up against my legs and my butt. They just sort of... cling... to my thighs. I tried them on and Michael nodded appreciatively, but I was horrified.

"It's indecent!" I squeaked.

"No, it's not," he replied calmly. "They're not even as tight as the style is right now."

Which is true. I'd actually have to drop them another size for that, but still. It's weird. It was a big enough deal for me last year when I went to Village Thrift and bought a bunch of clothes that fit. After so many years of baggy grunge, it was strange that I could look into the mirror and readily see the basic shape of my body. But day-to-day wear that just hugs up against me? I don't know what to do with it. It used to be that if I was wearing something tight, I was going out. Not going to work.

I told Yesica yesterday and she laughed at me. She said, "Wear them. I bet no one even notices."

So I am. And no one has noticed.

But back to consumerism.

We also went to target to pick up some things, including a bicycle helmet for me. It took forever for me to choose one, because, while I don't like to admit it, I am vain enough that I don't want to wear a huge dorky helmet just because it's the cheapest one. I wound up getting a reasonably priced one that looks kind of neat. I put it on in front of the mirror when I got home and had to laugh.

"God, I look like a dork," I said.

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "That's what helmets are for... making people look like dorks. And you didn't even get one of those really ugly ones."

So, there you go. Tight pants. Huge, dorky helmet.

Fashion trend, here I come.