I just spent three hours shopping for a single pair of jeans. This task used to be so much easier. Just find a couple of pairs of 36W/34L Levis for $20 a pop; task completed in fifteen minutes.
Now, not only are Levis just not good enough, but my new body shape is exceedingly difficult to shop for. The 34-inch inseam obviously didn’t change, but now (because I have muscular thighs, but a slim waist) I need either 30-inch “relaxed fit” jeans or 32-inch straight legged ones. Very few stores have that combination in stock.
As for Levis no longer being adequate, I wholly blame my coworkers. One complement on the pair of tint-washed Bullhead jeans I bought last week gave me a warm feeling. Two complements made my day. The third…well, they may have just created a monster.
So now I quest for hours for the perfect pair of jeans? Inconceivable. Actually, there may just be a closeted metrosexual within me, struggling to get out—but how will I break the news to my parents. My mother will just never understand that I paid fifty bucks (on sale) for a pair of tremendously comfortable, hand-distressed “whiskers-washed” jeans. “Fifty bucks? For jeans with holes in them? I’ve got plenty of jeans with holes in them that I’ll sell you for fifty bucks!”
I’ve learned that you must never - under pain of death itself - discuss how much you pay for things with your folks. If my parents knew that I had a $300 handbag, they’d die. Literally.
A $300 handbag? The horror. Don’t tell me…you’ve got a $500 pair of Manolos too, eh? :-)
Seriously, though, I’ve occasionally tried to buy some nicer items for my mom (not quite that luxe, though), but she wouldn’t wear them because they were “too nice.” She also refuses to ever spend any money on herself.
My feeling is that if one works 8-10 hours per day (or more), but doesn’t throw some of that hard-earned money around every so often with an irresponsible spending spree, one risks going out of one’s mind.