I walked in the door. I did not need a dress. I did not need a pearl necklace. Nor did I need a swimming suit top. So I kept on walking, missing the sign above the doorway to the back room that read "Watch Your Step!" I had not been watching my step and so I missed a step--misstepped--and nearly stumbled against the doorjamb. To save face, I walked back through the doorway and made a point of looking up. And there, in bubbly green pastel letters, I saw the sign. I made a show of shaking my head--who the hell puts a sign to watch one's step above an average human being's sightline? and, if the person had been walking with his or her head held high, majestically, would they not have stumbled over the four-inch drop, anyway?--and I walked back into the Men's-slash-Toys section. I did not need a caterpillar on wheels, nor did I need Lincoln Logs. I wanted a shirt or three.
So I ambled to the button-up shirt rack and thumbed through the prospects. I was joined in the room by a woman in her early-50s. She thumbed through a tie rack. I don't know if she found what she was looking for. Frankly, I didn't care. I was on a mission. There were some god-awful manifestations of clothing but, then again, there were a few decent shirts, too. I grabbed three plaid button-up short-sleeved shirts and a gray polo-type shirt, and held them against my chest to approximate the likelihood of their fitting me. They all seemed like winners, so I stuffed them under an arm and grabbed a pair of shoes off the rack before heading to the check-out. Cost of four shirts and a pair of box-like shoes? Twenty-five dollars and some change. Total time in the store? About ten minutes. Correct fits? All. And? Yes, priceless.
Shopping is easy! And now I know where to go if I ever need a polyester shirt with a screaming floral pattern.