Monkey breasts... cow eggs... it's all good.

I hate shopping for clothes.


Maybe that statement threatens my status as a card-carrying female of the species, but it's true nonetheless. Mostly, it's my attitude. My sarcasm, while an asset on this blog, doesn't go over very well with most department store sales people. Who knew? Also, I generally prefer the company of that sadistic dentist from "Little Shop of Horrors" to the population usually found at the mall.


I have this annoying predilection for wanting to be comfortable in my clothes, and not many stores cater to that fashion sense. This is especially challenging because my contrary nature extends to my body type, which steadfastly refuses to conform to the prevailing trend in women's clothing. This (fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it) doesn't really change with my weight, so no matter what the scale says, I always have the same problem when shopping for clothes.


Basically, I have two things going for me and they're planted on the front of my chest.


Buttons and my boobs are not friends. They are sworn enemies, and in a confrontation, boobs always win. Buttons can be seen fleeing the battlefield at a rate fit to put out eyes, or being absorbed into the opponent's ranks, leaving gaping holes in the formation they were meant to maintain.


Because of this, I gravitate toward knit tops which not only don't employ buttons but tend to reach farther down my freakishly long torso. (Not quite a candidate for Toulouse-Lautrec syndrome, but it's a near thing.) Nobody has a greater selection of knit tops during every season than Old Navy, so I can often be found haunting their sale racks, looking for the last scoop-neck, teal, long-sleeved cotton t-shirt on the eastern seaboard.


For some reason, however, this year's buyers for Old Navy have decided to downgrade their fabrics to something approximating... oh, I dunno... AIR. Not that heavy, oxygen stuff either. More like helium.


Um, excuse me? I know that it doesn't often dip below 73 degrees where executives of large corporations hang out, but here? NORTH OF THE EQUATOR? It tends to get a little chilly around the end of October. The last thing I need is a shirt with an uncanny ability to showcase my low body temperature, a condition for which the shirt is responsible in the first damn place!


I was about to bring this argument to the attention of the sales person, when I was distracted by this:

*sigh*

I'm sure that will solve my problem nicely, Old Navy. Why no, I don't mind shelling out seven times as much money as I had originally intended! What was that? Oh yes, I'll just tuck my female membership card right back here in my wallet, thanks.