Walking into a store is like when you rush down a slide and you first feel that swirl of exaultasion. The smells, the colors, the textures, it is all so magical you can just feel yourself getting high from materialism. God, it feels so good. Like a lover beckoning, or warm butter on toast; everything is proclaiming without modesty, how beautiful it is and behind it all there is even a whisper of just how sexy it can make you, you just have to put it on. Yeah...that is how it is...until you look at the price tag. $45.98? Oh, sorry rain check?
Or when you get up enough courage and are able to sum up the frightening effort to actually put on that black cashmere sweater only to see alas, you are not a small, you are a pig and you need to try a medium or *gasp* yes, a large. What have you been eating?
A store's voice can be rather rude and excuse me? Really unrealistic! I don't understand how people can create something that is so deceiving! The shirt is white and has elaborate birds streaking across an outline of beautiful flowers on it...well great, but when you try it on, the rolls at your hips look like they're gonna roll right down your legs and out of sight and any chub you have is now exemplified and can be seen through the thin material. What a let down!
But you decide to give the voice another chance, maybe it is all your fault. Okay, let's try a pair of jeans. There's nothing more harmless or anything more welcoming then a pair of jeans. *Sigh* The well worn, essential blue, comfortable look is better than anything in this dark world. You find an empty cubicle and after a moment you start the fatal tugging up your thighs. Oh God, you grunted and they are determined not to budge. What the heck? You look at the tag, size ten, yep that's right, how can they not fit? You have been this size for so long, how can it turn you down so cruelly? Your heart contorts and you sit heavily on the grey plastic bench that occupies most of the tiny space. Yes, it is hopeless, you will simply have to go to the perfume and cologne section.
When you go there you doll yourself up with the scent of Antonio Bandaras and a bunch of other products hosted by other actors to simply feel wanted and to imagine that you are actually standing next to the hunk and smelling his gorgeous exterior. Although, it is all very strong now that you think of it and you now smell like a guy. In the end you buy some sexy, black heels that you will probably never wear in this hopeless town and the thin clerk that rings you up to a total of $29.99, wrinkles her nose after you pass. Well, you shrug, all you can do is silently flip them off and realize that you must have been the child that scraped her knees after the rush of the slide at the bottom.