Today started out good enough. I knew Catherine's was having a 40% off sale so I decided to ruin a perfectly good day by going there to try on swimsuits. Those swimsuits were like, "whoa whoa whoa, so you've been on a diet for three weeks...let's not get carried away here!" I ended up buying one because "Mall Daze" and perfectly-stationed mirrors made me believe I looked okay in it. When I got home and tried it on in front of a REAL mirror, I quickly realized I'd be making a return in my not-so-distant future. Oh well, here's to another summer of shorts and t-shirts.
I had a point to this...oh yeah! So this old lady's in front of me in line, and she's talking shit from like the second she gets in line. It's a mall on a Sunday, lady...there's a line, deal with it. It's finally her turn to pay and she has a million questions about sizes because she's trying to buy her daughter some jeans. That's nice enough and all. But Catherine's sizes are all stupid because God forbid a woman has to buy a 32W instead of some made up code-word size 10 in fat-ass Catherine's sizes. Shit is dumb, but whatever.
So the lady's like "well, she needs a 6X." To which the store employee informs her that they don't carry sizes that high. This is when the just-regular-grumpy-0ld-lady turns into psycho-bitch-from-hell-old-lady. She says "I swear. I wish this bitch would buy her own damn pants. I tell you the fatter her ass gets, the lazier she gets!" Whoa. First off, best chill on that fat and lazy talk considering you are in a store full of fat ladies who are probably dieting and pissed off already that the world hates fatties. (read: me.)
Awkwardness ensues. You can tell everyone within earshot is torn between wanting to slice her face open and wanting to understand that it's just "wacky old person talk." I am doing everything in my power not to grab a pair of nearby Spanxx and put the old bat out her misery. She shuts up and pays and I figure she's outta there. NO. She decides to stick around and hang out at the counter for like no fucking reason other than to further test my impending murderous rage.
I step up to pay and the lady takes that tag thingy off my swimsuit. Here she goes piping up again. "Hey, that's a big swimsuit. What size IS that??" The lady tells her. I stare daggers. "Yeah, that might fit her. It's real pretty. Yeah, if it's fit YOU, I'm sure it'll fit her!" Oh great. So now I'm bigger than the fat lazy bitch at home that won't buy her own pants. I'm feeling like super-good about myself right about now, by the way.
Long story short (four paragraphs too late), they didn't have another one in that size so her old ass finally leaves. Part of me wants to keep the swimsuit just so I know it's not in stock for her. But...well, I need the money. :)
It's just...I dunno. I don't get what happened to you in your life that just makes you decide to go out on a Sunday afternoon to fuck with people you don't even know. If she thinks they're just harmless statements, then it's time to put her in a home. Since when does turning 70 give you a license to be a complete asshole?
Maybe I'm being a hypocrite because I'm sitting here talking mad shit about the elderly, but it's not like I'm going into medical supply stores or a Denny's at 4pm and saying stereotypical just-plain-mean shit about the old people sitting around in there.
Also, I would never let anyone else buy me pants!
Anyway, weigh-in today. Hope it's a good 'un.
Oh and I still need a swimsuit. Dammit.
And just once I'd like to meet a nice little granny who'll knit me a hat and offer me ribbon candy. I know they're out there...I've seen them on TV!