Going shopping throughout the years has made me really hate buying clothes. I have weird chicken legs (thanks Mom for those genetics), I’m unfortunately chesty and let’s just be real, I’m not a size 9.

So when I go shopping for clothes, I tend to not shop for clothes. I tend to like to go to consignment stores and Goodwill as you can usually find some neat stuff. I’m no good in dress shops though. I look at shoes, I ponder the handbags that I never use but think I might and usually wander to the nearest Best Buy because there are things there that interest me more than clothing.

I am my father’s daughter as he does the same thing.

If you wear these shoes, you need a psychiatrist

However, I need to wear clothes as no one wants to see these weird chicken legs nekkid.

Yesterday, I embarked on a journey to buy a simple black dress. I wasn’t looking for a safari outfit or a clown car, I was just looking for a friggin’ black dress as society has told me that when I go to events it is something I need. There is nothing worse than having other women eyeball you when you wear something other than what they are wearing. How hard is it to find a black dress?

Harder than you think, campers.

First of all, I’m not a thin broad and I’m short as hell, so when I get to the store and all they have is sleeveless crap (it’s winter for God’s sake), I began to get a bit stabby. I begrudgingly tried on a couple of things and stared into the mirror. I looked ridiculous. Big stripes and color schemes that looked like Lawrence Welk had thrown up jello shooters stared back at me.

I got dressed and went back out to hunt again.

And isn’t that what clothes shopping is, a hunt for something elusive that is supposed to transform me into some sort of swan? I’ve been told that I need to dress in a certain way. Society tells us this, pop culture tells us this (red carpet anybody? Bueller? Bueller?) and there tends to be, and I get that I might be exaggerating, a continual battle cry that fashion will save us all from the Bogeyman, whomever that might be. So imagine for a moment that you are a shorty like myself trying on pants which are designed for taller women. By the time you get them hemmed on top of the cost of the slacks, you have paid twice the amount. I’ve been un and underemployed for the bulk of two years people.

So I’m shuffling around a dress shop like a zombie and asked the sales clerk if there were any simple black dresses for sale. She takes me to something that looks like it is right out of 1978 and says “we have this one which would look perfect on you.” It was one of those polyester/jersey numbers that had a big stupid collar, pockets on the boob area (which of course when your chesty it is the first place you want pockets) and buttons all the way to the bottom. At the waist, there was this belt thingie made from the same material. I think I sighed so hard that the manager gave me a dirty look. I could feel her laser beam eyes burning a hole in the back of my free BarCamp T-shirt that I got two years ago.

The material was clingy too. I hate clingy. Clingy makes me psychotic.

This dress screamed Fugly and it was one of three dresses in the store that wasn’t an explosion of the Lawrence Welk throw-up color.

I smiled at the sales clerk and thanked her, as I am southern and  do that sort of thing. I then looked at the price tag for this extremely shitty looking “simple black dress” and I think my mouth dropped.

$99.99.

What the hell …

I thought to myself later on after blind rage had left that no wonder I dress the way I do. A.) the outfits are highly unattractive and B.) you need a bank loan to buy even the ugliest of outfits.

I finally went to the sales section. I found a dress that will work but I settled on it. It’s black but it’s sleeveless (I have 780,234 jackets to cover my short monkey arms) and I will wear it but dammit I won’t like it. It is some heavy ass material that is the same weight of tying six Shake-Weights to your body.

I think my best bet is to go to Suit Wearhouse and get myself a few suits to wear as they will alter them for free. It makes more sense for men. I can get a seersucker, a black suit and a blue one that I can wear at anytime just like men I know do.  The suits will last and if I’m going to spend some money, I might as well spend money on something I can wear for awhile. In this case, men have it better than women my size do. Seriously.

I have never fit into any category when it comes to being a girl, I get that. I also know that if shopping is this self-esteem killing, no wonder I don’t do it and I have pretty healthy self-esteem when it comes to myself. None of us are perfect except perhaps for Audrey Hepburn.

I yam what I yam.

So, when you see the bright green boots I wear sometimes or the fedora know that I’m just doing my own thing and it’s just me. We aren’t the same and there are challenges having chicken legs and being a height that sometimes prevents me getting on the rides at DisneyWorld.

And, no, I’m not going shopping with you for you to show me the ropes. I’ll be in the Best Buy talking to one of the sales clerks.