Losing Touch

It’s official. I’m not old, but I might as well be. I’m no longer “with it.” Gosh, how OLD does that sound? But yeah, I have proof. And it goes beyond my “grandma chic” style (because that, my friends, I totally own and take pride in, as evidenced by my favorite new shoes, which could practically serve orthopedic purposes they’re so ridiculously comfortable).

I went to the mall this weekend with my mom and Declan (if hangin’ with your mom and baby at the mall don’t put you in the uncool kids club, I don’t know what will) and I HATED it. H a t e d i t! My teenage self is cringing right now. I can recall shopping with my mom when I was younger, proclaiming that I could peruse those racks and shelves with glee for hours on end and not grow weary, wondering sadly how she could be sitting there on that dressing room bench begging to go home. How do your feet get tired from shopping? What do you mean the music is too loud? And here I am — shy of 30 — pissed off that far too many people are packed into one place with not enough air circulation (makes you appreciate the oxygen they pump into casinos in Vegas…), unsupervised kids are running amok, I have a headache and everyone is wearing twelve perfumes at the same time (seriously, why doesn’t this place have windows?). Getmeouttahere!

One of the reasons we were at the mall was to return something to Urban Outfitters that I bought online (a planter that arrived broken in half). And as we walked in I stopped dead in my tracks to point out to my mom a pair of jelly sandals (think back to 3rd grade…you know the ones) with a stacked heel. And I saw a girl pick them up to try them on. Not in a funny, ironic, “aren’t these so 90’s?” sort of way. In a “I’m totally going to rock these with that there crop top, a fringe purse, harem pants and…” (I’m out of fashion items I can properly identify on said “hip” teens these days). I was miserable. And it was so crowded the grown up part of me had anxiety just thinking of all the merchandise that was probably just walking out the door unbeknownst to the underage employees. And that’s not even getting into how long and how many 18-year-old hipsters wearing non-prescription glasses and slouchy beanies it took to process my return. “Ummm…was there something wrong with the item?” Yes, here’s one half and here’s the other. I ordered it whole.

Part of me was screaming to get out of there as fast as possible but the snarky half wanted to make a game of it. Put Declan in the baby carrier and stand outside the dressing rooms giving unsolicited fashion advice to these kids. I could hear myself giving warnings to them with my eyes: “You will regret that top in exactly 2 weeks.”

So while I knew this was probably that moment in time where I’d look back and realize I no longer knew anything about what’s hip, I knew well enough to hightail it outside. Ugh, the mall on a weekend? Never again. Shopping online in your sweats while watching tv totally wins. More points if you’re consuming copious amounts of cheese/chocolate/wine. High five from me if you’re cuddling with a dog.