I am not a girly girl.

I like men, I have hip-long hair, and I wear lipstick. That’s about the extent of my femininity. My wardrobe consists mostly of jeans, sweatshirts, and athletic shoes; and they are all comfortably durable and at least 10 years old.

And I hate shopping.

I really, really hate shopping.

Which is why all of my clothes have been around for three presidential terms. That, and I’ve never really needed to buy a lot of clothing because I’ve somehow managed to keep my weight and shape the same since high school (thank goodness for small favors).

But I’m getting older, and my body’s starting to grow out of its former waif-like shape. I’m finally getting some meat on my bones. That means, of course, that I need new clothes—one or two sizes up so that I can breathe again and have room to grow.

This is not a good thing—not so much my getting heavier (which doesn’t really concern me as most people would think), but my having to buy clothes. Clothes shopping is a girly girl thing to do, and (as I’ve said before) I am not a girly girl.

Today, the plan is to buy new shoes. The plan is always to buy new shoes. It was the plan last Sunday and the Sunday before, just as the plan was to buy new jeans. I’ve just never gotten around to it—jeans or shoes.

But there it is, the terrible chore. I have to buy new shoes, so today I’m going shoe shopping.

*Sigh* I dread trying on numerous pairs to find the one that I like and that feels good, one that doesn’t cost me my rent and my groceries, one that will look good with most of my clothes. I dread sitting there and sorting through boxes, searching, walking around malls or in front of mirrors.

For me, buying shoes is not like buying jeans or tops. When I buy jeans, I always buy the same style, and I buy them without even bothering to try them on. The drill is simple; buy a lot, and buy Levi’s 512 Slim Fit Long, size 5 (except that now it’s 7, and Levi’s no longer makes the 512 style—grrr! There goes my drill). When I buy tops, I hold them up, slant my head as I imagine myself in them, then buy them off the rack, size small. No muss. No fuss. No time wasted. No trying anything on. None.

No. With shoes, it’s different. I try them on. I walk around in them. I sit and stare at them for the longest time. I debate whether or not I should get this pair… or that pair… or even the pair over there. I also won’t try on the same size. Sometimes I’ll try 7-1/2, sometimes 6-1/2. It depends on whether it’s a dress shoe, a tennis shoe, a hiking boot, or whatever. It depends on what kind of socks I’ll be wearing. It depends on how often I’ll be wearing the shoes in the course of a day.

I am not looking forward to doing all that, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it all got put off yet another week. I just can’t stand shopping for shoes or clothes. I can’t.

You know how the stereotypical couple goes shopping? The wife goes from store to store, looking at the items hanging on the racks, comparing prices, and trying on things, while the husband dutifully follows her, carrying all the bags, looking bored and resigned in a long-suffering way, and wanting to go home.

Well, I’m like the husband. I simply hate shopping. I’d rather be at home, parked in front of the TV.

And nowhere near the shopping channel.

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