Column:
Adventures in the women's department
Published Feb. 1, 2008
I never feel comfortable in the women’s department at the mall, but sometimes it’s necessary to venture where no man dares to go — well, no man except for that strange 35-year-old who sells shoes. Every store has one. The women’s department leaves me feeling like I just landed on some kind of alien planet where the inhabitants are all wrinkly women who wear purple dresses with red hats. However, it was Christmastime, so of course I needed to shop for them and get something nice.
To my surprise, something very interesting can be found in the women’s department: women. They are not all old ones in those red hats. Sometimes there are young ones there, too. Little did I realize, but girls like clothes and shopping. This might seem like a very obvious statement, but men do not think about things women like to do — just about things men don’t like to do.
I was walking through the racks, weaving in and out of various sweaters and the occasional brassiere, when something very beautiful caught my eye. I tried to smile. A girl and her dad had come into the store. She started making eyes at me — really obviously. But I was walking past her, and when I turned to return the flirtatious look, I met her dad’s eyes instead.
I hit on a 50-year-old man ... inadvertently, of course, but nevertheless, neither party was pleased by this instance. As it turns out, it wasn’t his daughter who looked at me. It was his girlfriend. I was even more confused. So, now I am in the women’s department and I just made a move on a man who will retire before I can legally rent a car. Needless to say, this shopping adventure was not going as I had planned.
Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw it: the perfect gift for my mom. It was a black wool pea coat, and I knew she’d love it. There was only one problem: I didn’t know what size to get. My mom is not a tall woman by any means. She’s ten feet tall on the phone, and won’t take guff from anyone, including her baby boy, but she is every bit of 5 feet tall. Excuse me. Five foot and a half inch tall. There’s no way I would live it down if I didn’t say that half inch. It’s the most important fraction since pi. (Pi isn’t a fraction? Oh really, 22/7 isn’t a fraction? Take that, math nerds.)
Now, after holding up coats next to one another and trying to decide how tall my mom is in comparison, I came up with an idea. I definitely don’t want to get something that will drag at her feet. So I started sizing up the elderly ladies shopping for God-knows-what. I ran across the aisles and held the coat up to the back of this woman. I think it was a little too long, but I didn’t have enough time to decide before she turned around. Talk about an awkward conversation. Apparently, every older woman thinks a young person just wants to steal her purse rather than actually buy something for his or her mother. As far as the Columbia Police Department is concerned, I am a very suspicious potential grandma mugger.
In conclusion, you must be careful when going into the uncharted wilderness known as the women’s department. You might get out alive, or you might come out under suspicion for lewd acts against the elderly.
Honestly lady, I wasn’t checking you out. I just wanted to use your body for a minute — you know, to see how tall you are!
Love, Ryan Beck
