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hawkwing_lbShopping is work.
The setting: Dublin city centre. Your correspondant (me) has been trawling through expensive shop after expensive shop, in search of a pair of casual trousers that a) are people-shaped, with room for muscular thighs*, and b) do not cost the moon and the stars.
This results in a gradual progression downtown, and an increasing feeling of frustrated rage. Until I had my one bright idea of the day. "Sod this," says I, leaving the latest expensive shop behind. "Let's try the army surplus shop: I know there's one down Henry Street way."
There is, indeed, an army/outdoor sports supply shop down Henry Street way. It is not gleamingly clean and bright. It does not play loud, annoying music. Nor does it have cheerfully irritating shop assistants. It is small and looking rather dilapidated at the edges, and has one older bloke who looks like a former Army NCO, and his couple of assistants. Who were helpful. And pleasant.
(And they know their way around outdoor sports equipment.)
Therein I did find not only well-fitting trousers with multiple pockets for affordable prices, but well-fitting fleecy-type jacket/jumpers for affordable prices.
The black combats will go with my stompy boots. So will the green pair. And the jumpers are most marvellously soft and warm.
There is a moral in this story. High street shops sell overpriced crap for idealised figures in a poisonous atmosphere of buybuybuy. I think I'll be going to the army bargain place in future.
I am pleased. And smug. And will now be able to horrify my grandmother (a dreadful elitist snob, and completely unrecognisant of the fact) not only with said articles of clothing ("But isn't that a bit butch-? You do want to find a boyfriend someday, don't you?" - usually asked in either incomprehending or accusatory tones, to no end of my amusement) but with the place of their purchase. ("An army surplus shop? But why couldn't you go to Arnotts'?")
And it is small and petty of me to make fun of her this way on the internets. But I am not nearly a good enough person to refrain, tonight.
For the first time in my existence, I actually feel pleased about having done the sadly necessary (especially in this climate) clothes shopping. Joy to the world! I now own trousers for day-to-day wear that do not have multiple darns at the seams!
*You would - or perhaps you wouldn't - be surprised at how narrow the thighs of most jeans are. Are most people stick creatures, or something? Because usually, when I find thighs that fit, the waist is swimmingly big.
The setting: Dublin city centre. Your correspondant (me) has been trawling through expensive shop after expensive shop, in search of a pair of casual trousers that a) are people-shaped, with room for muscular thighs*, and b) do not cost the moon and the stars.
This results in a gradual progression downtown, and an increasing feeling of frustrated rage. Until I had my one bright idea of the day. "Sod this," says I, leaving the latest expensive shop behind. "Let's try the army surplus shop: I know there's one down Henry Street way."
There is, indeed, an army/outdoor sports supply shop down Henry Street way. It is not gleamingly clean and bright. It does not play loud, annoying music. Nor does it have cheerfully irritating shop assistants. It is small and looking rather dilapidated at the edges, and has one older bloke who looks like a former Army NCO, and his couple of assistants. Who were helpful. And pleasant.
(And they know their way around outdoor sports equipment.)
Therein I did find not only well-fitting trousers with multiple pockets for affordable prices, but well-fitting fleecy-type jacket/jumpers for affordable prices.
The black combats will go with my stompy boots. So will the green pair. And the jumpers are most marvellously soft and warm.
There is a moral in this story. High street shops sell overpriced crap for idealised figures in a poisonous atmosphere of buybuybuy. I think I'll be going to the army bargain place in future.
I am pleased. And smug. And will now be able to horrify my grandmother (a dreadful elitist snob, and completely unrecognisant of the fact) not only with said articles of clothing ("But isn't that a bit butch-? You do want to find a boyfriend someday, don't you?" - usually asked in either incomprehending or accusatory tones, to no end of my amusement) but with the place of their purchase. ("An army surplus shop? But why couldn't you go to Arnotts'?")
And it is small and petty of me to make fun of her this way on the internets. But I am not nearly a good enough person to refrain, tonight.
For the first time in my existence, I actually feel pleased about having done the sadly necessary (especially in this climate) clothes shopping. Joy to the world! I now own trousers for day-to-day wear that do not have multiple darns at the seams!
*You would - or perhaps you wouldn't - be surprised at how narrow the thighs of most jeans are. Are most people stick creatures, or something? Because usually, when I find thighs that fit, the waist is swimmingly big.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-03 11:39 pm (UTC)When I find a pair of jeans that fits around my woman-shaped hips, I practically have to tie a piece of string around my middle to keep the waist where it belongs. The jeans with the waist that might fit me don't fit around my rear end.
Sigh.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-03 11:46 pm (UTC)I don't know whether the makers are skimping on fabric, or whether they actually think real people are shaped that way.