Now don't get me wrong, as a mom of a relatively-low maintenance sophomore boy, it should be easy. And, it's not hard, it is more...well, what's the right word--painful. You see, he is currently 5'8' and on a good day, I mean when he is wringing wet--with winter close on and heavy shoes, he is 108 pounds. Too tall for boys clothes and too skinny for men's clothes. And before you ask, he doesn't get his body from me. I digress.
So this year, I said we would break it up over several days. One day, we did backpack and school supplies. Ah, the easy day. Why did I start with the easy day? And then other days, we did other small doses. And so came -- tennis shoe shopping, because he is growing so fast, the 5 pair in the closet (all different sizes) are too small. Ski (I mean shoe) shopping night was here.
"I want to go to the Nike Store at the Outlets" were the words that started it all. Those words, seemed so innocent. So, so innocent. After a busy day at work (this happens to be one of my busy seasons at work), we headed toward the outlets. And, after finding a parking place in which we could almost see the store--We. Were. Off.
Enter the store, along with 500 of my closest friends. Wives telling husbands, "Don't encourage him to get those shoes. If he doesn't like them, he won't wear them." Teenagers acting like they are there alone...with parental unit following with a "please just decide." There was a chorus of "How about this?" from the moms...and a chorus of "You like that? How about you get 5 of them--one for each day" from the dads.
We were there for shoes. Of course, the one pair in his (new) size that he liked, only had one in the box, because the other one was a demo--attached to a chain, buckled down for safety. It was right then that I figured they hired Holiday staff in August, because there was not one person on the floor that had a key or knew how to unhook said demo. Finally, after I'm sure the salesperson walked to the next closest Nike Outlet store (150 miles away), he came out with another pair...in a box...the right size. Awesome!
But...as long as we were at the outlet and had a parking place, I figured we might as well do a little clothes shopping. The next three stores had "nothing" according to said offspring. And then we got to the fourth clothing store.
We walked in. Strike that, it's about me right now. I walked in. Headache: check. Hungry: check. Still dressed from work (including heels): check. Tired: check. Serving as a checkbook for 15 year old boy who is frustrated: check.
I knew we had just bought some clothes at this store at the beginning of the summer, and they had shorts that fit him. So, as we walked in, one of the clerks said, "Hello" and started asking questions. Mind you, I have no clue what he was asking because the music was so loud, I couldn't hear him. ....but the lyrics were, "I left my wallet in El Segundo
Left my wallet in El Segundo. Left my wallet in El Segundo...I gotta get, I got-got ta get it"
He looked. I watched. Careful not to suggest anything, as that was the sure way to have him not get anything. After hearing about leaving a wallet in El Segundo for the 15th time, I started singing. Well, singing is a strong word. Teenager became annoyed--join the crowd little one-- "Mom, stop! Please stop!" Hey, it was catchy and I certainly knew the words--even after hearing it once. He said, "you are not part of 'A Tribe Called Quest'"
"Is that a group?"
"Yeeeesssss Mom." <with the proverbial teenage eye roll>
Old meter: pegged. I mean, really a group called A Tribe Called Quest. How about just Quest. How about just a Tribe--certainly they chanted. Wonder how they paid for stuff--their wallet was in El Segundo. Do you think they shared a wallet? I digress.
So we make it through some Goldilocks moments. Those shorts are "too chino." (Who knew! I never knew there was such a thing!) That shirt is "too little boy." That shirt "goes down to my knees." That shirt is "too big."
After floor clerk (who was a cool early-20-something) suggested a few things...we were headed to the register. Awesome!
As we approached the register, this is the conversation that was happening between the two clerks.
"You ARE REALLY 26? I didn't realize you were that old! I mean that is almost 30!"
"Debit or Credit?"
"Either is fine"
"I mean you don't look that old. I thought you were a lot closer to 20. You are almost 30! Do you have anything special you want to do before you are 30"
<Teenage son giggles because he knows what is going on in my head>
"I'm attaching some coupons to your receipt. You can use them in September. Would you like your receipt in the bag or with you?"
"Doesn't matter. At 48, I probably won't live long enough to see September. I mean, it's almost 50!" (O.k. part of that was in my head...)
As we walked out of the store, the teenager laughed. I called for a walker.