My family was in town this week, and I was able to spend some of Saturday afternoon chatting with my mother before I needed to take them to the airport. It’s amazing what you can learn about yourself by talking to your mom. She provided all sorts of insight into things I had just taken for granted.
Take, for example, my ambivalence towards clothes shopping. It’s something I have to do (oddly, people tend to frown upon complete nudity in my area), but I don’t particularly have fun doing it. I thought it was because of the shopping excursions I would be forced to endure with my mother and sister (whom, by the way, are both marathon shoppers – together, they are a force to behold), bored out of my mind. But no, as it turns out, up until the age of about 6 or 7, I used to love going shopping.
The blame for my shift in thinking, apparently, lies at the feet of the designers. Jordache, in particular. See, when I was just starting out in elementary school, Jordache jeans were all the rage. (This should give you an idea of how old I am.) Anyway, the smallest size Jordache made was a size 7. When I was 7 years old (and should have been wearing a size 7), I was still wearing a size 6X. Frustrated that nothing ever fit (even as I got older – I used to be very slight before I got pregnant and hope to one day be again), I gave up on shopping for clothes and found myself content in wearing my sister’s hand-me-downs. In fact, I’m still content doing so and am actually frustrated whenever I have to shop on my own.
So, if I don’t spend enough money in clothing stores to help boost the consumer spending numbers, it’s all because of those early formative years, when nothing was in my size… and very little still is today.
It was just good to know the shopping gene didn’t skip me completely.