This poem is inspired by my father, who in his childhood coined the term “The Desert” in reference to shopping with my grandmother.
It’s as dull as the desert and almost as deadly:
A polyester forest, a bad textile medley
Of faux-fur lined vests and all the latest for fall.
It’s the relentless consumerist assault of the MALL.
Every year or two I am forced to go store-hopping,
Though a bed of hot coals sounds nicer than shopping.
Some retail employees will completely ignore you
While others will follow, cajole and implore you,
Pointing out clothing that’s patterned like pelts;
Suggesting the purchase of bluish python-print belts.
In the department store maze I lose all direction…
What’s this? Oh my Lord. It’s the Kardashian Kollection.
For slim long-limbed girls, do fitting rooms offer glory?
To me, those cubicles are sartorial purgatory.
When you locate some trousers in this garment-filled wasteland
They’re a fit in the hips but not in the waistband.
Sleeves are too long and hems drag on the floor;
Tight, sticky side-zippers are enough to start wars.
Blouses and sweaters look frumpy at best
And button-downs won’t button up over my chest.
All the stress took its toll – I may have parted from reason.
I fear I have journeyed beyond what is pleasin’.
Despite all my woes and my fears and my tinny “can’t”s,
My husband convinced me to get skinny pants.