I’m a deeply menacing 5’5” (5’6” with Jewfro) with an
average build, yet shirts nor pants fit upon purchase. Every item must be hemmed to fit my laughably
non-standardized human body. This makes
shopping a challenge.
I’ve usually stocked up on t-shirts at The Gap, mainly
because the 3 for $20 is a bargain during unemployment stints. Or perhaps because I clumsily rationalized
that t-shirts “hand-crafted” in Asia, by Asians, are closer to Jew-size. That was before American Apparel made shirts
that feel dreamily akin to an afternoon on a floating Maldives cabana after
making love with a beautiful fiancé for the 9th time with the glow
of her perfect infinite smile laced deep into my soul. I’m single, can you tell?
Gap t-shirts fit so well I dared extend my range to the jeans. I asked this cute sales girl why the 31W /
28L combo is such a rarity? Cute Sales Girl
said I shouldn’t compare myself to others “because I was handsome and perfect
for my size.” The movie in my head took
a twist and I thought if we fall in love I could piggyback on her 40% discount. Then she said you should try Gap Kids – the
boys jeans might fit better. How I went
from her bedroom to stroller in 3 seconds still astounds me.
Adult male MANnequins at The Gap looked cool,
put-together. They knew how to layer and
were always looking off into a vague nearby paradise. But they glared at me like I snuck into the
party. The BOYequins in Gap Kids were friendly,
adorable, like the perfect miniature husbands that wives and moms dream to
have.
In Gap Kids, I noticed my brain beseech the BOYequins for
the sartorial counsel I was missing as a single guy without a lover. I wanted to believe that moms shop there
because they have enough control over their little boys to costume them the way they wish they could their husbands.
{Confession: I’m currently
a single guy who has a list of childrens’ names in my wallet because everyday I
dream of being a dad - but this story was a while ago when getting laid was higher
priority.}
Like a non-dog-owner in a dog park, sometimes it got a bit
weird.
Most conversations with the Gap Kids moms started like this:
MOM: How old is your little boy?
ME: Um, I’m actually here for myself.
MOM: Really? But
you’re…
ME: An adult, I know.
To smooth out the awkwardness I’d ask a question about
layering, if denim really does match
with everything, or with one mom this happened:
MOM: How old is your little boy?
ME: Um, I’m actually here for myself.
MOM: Really? But
you’re…
ME: An adult, I know.
(Beat) How do you feel about
zippers versus button-fly jeans?
Of course my innocent inquiry went misunderstood. She felt ambushed, as if I was preying upon her
in neutral territory like the innocent waterhole that is Gap Kids. As much as my Youporn search terms might
indicate I dig Milfs, on strict principle I never hit on married women.
A million times worse, one mom bizarrely fretted over the specter of the criminally fucked up P-word (pedophilia). Because I was in Gap Kids looking for boy-jeans? I was mortified until an older saleswoman came to my rescue and told me that some of these moms are irrationally overprotective and she was surprised that that mom didn’t have one of those allegedly child-friendly leashes on her kid. I don’t have any children (that I know of) but I’d instantly fire the putz that licensed the patent on those leashes.
Yet a few moms pitied me because it was “cute” that I was in Gap Kids,
as a grown man, trying on kids jeans. A
few even generously opined on how the jeans fit after I tried them on in those
little dressing rooms built for little kids NOT GROWN MEN.
Overall, I felt like I Gary Coleman’ed myself in search of
the perfect fit. After two shopping sessions on separate days and
many memorable conversations later, thankfully kids jeans don’t fit. Gap Kids wasn’t the denim Shangri-La I dreamt
of. At 37, my jeans saga persists and I’m still
stuck somewhere between any jeans store and the nearest tailor shop.
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