Life presents unpleasant and even despicable tasks,
Unstopping a plugged-up toilet, disciplining a child,
Calling customer service about almost anything.
But none compare with shopping for clothes.
Hyperbole? Many appear to love this onerous task.
My wife, for example. I say to each their own.
But what is a more loathesome sight than a display
Of men’s clothing? Try to find the right sizes,
Drag an armload to the dressing room,
Where the attendant and any loitering customers
Can be imagined to look askance at your dreadful sense of style.
Undress behind a door that may not have a lock,
Feeling exposed, as in that dream where you
Find yourself completely naked in a public place.
Trying to act nonchalant, trying to ignore the
Silent distaste that radiates from surrounding eyes .
But what if there was an earthquake, a fire?
What if you had to evacuate the place at a moment’s notice,
Run through the women’s department in your underwear,
Huddle outside in rain, or snow, or lethal cold?
Pull on a pair of pants festooned with tags and labels,
Stare into the vast mirror that seems to play a trick,
Turning a specimen of admirable fitness
Into an example of poor posture and bad eating habits.
The “Before” in the Before and After photographs.
The pants are always too long, or not long enough,
The shirts strain across the chest or balloon like tents,
Even though the label alleges that they are your size.
You are faced with this unsavory choice–
Traipse back to the racks and shelves and try again,
Or flee, hoping your haste doesn’t suggest that
You are probably a shoplifter, and are wearing
A number of pilfered garments beneath your own clothes,
As if that would even be possible.
© Dennis Hathaway
[return to POTD index]