Shopping is a pain in the @$$, yet again

Yesterday was splendid. I got to see Significant Other. We went out for chai at my favorite coffee shop, and he took me out for a delicious dinner, which he insisted on paying for despite the fact that I could have afforded it, seeing as I now have a job. Then we sat at home and giggled over the wonderful graphics of Hitchcock's Psycho.

The only hitch yesterday, which transferred to today, was when Significant Other and I went shopping for dress shirts. A family friend is getting married next weekend, and I fail spectacularly at dress clothes. Significant Other is very good at fashion, so he wandered through the men's section of Kohl's with me and helped me decide on a shirt. When we found a decent-looking one, I went to the dressing room to try it on.

(Note: the dressing rooms at this particular Kohl's are NOT gender specific)

Granted, I was in the men's section. That specific dressing room was occupied by males only at the time. But I waited patiently for an available room, and went in to change. I popped back out briefly to make sure that Significant Other was still going to be in the area, so that he could judge the shirt on me (seeing as I can't for the life of me figure out what actually looks good on me).

Another man happened to be entering the dressing rooms as I stuck my head out and called for Significant Other. The man did a double-take, backtracked to the entrance, and asked loudly, "Is this the men's dressing room?"

I scowled.

I heard Significant Other say, "Yeah, I guess...although I don't think they're gender specific..."

The guy shrugged and walked back in.

Normally, I'd ignore this kind of thing. But under the strain of everything happening lately, I thought that it might do more harm than good to bottle up my rage. As the man passed me on his way to his room, I stared at him and asked pointedly, "Problem?"

He wouldn't even look me in the eyes. He stared at the floor and muttered, "Oh...no..."

As he went into his room, I held up my middle finger at the closing door and hissed, "Douchebag."

I doubt he heard me, but a small part of me hoped that he did.

I wanted to rant and rave to Significant Other, but I held my tongue, for the most part. The subject did get brought up while we were in line to pay, and I mentioned that this sort of thing happens on a regular basis. Significant Other apologized to me, although he didn't need to because he wasn't the problem.

Which leads me to today. I regularly go through my closet and pull out all the clothes I don't wear very often. I did so this morning. Then, looking at the pitiful selection of clothing that was left in my closet, I decided that today would be a shopping day.

I spent quite a while deciding where to go. I did try Kohl's again, very briefly, before realizing that I still don't know what looks good on me and that I should not be allowed in a store that sells nice clothes without a shopping partner. So I resorted to what I usually wind up resorting to when I have no one to shop with: Hot Topic.

Being nearly 23 years old, and seeing as Hot Topic's primary customers are teenagers, it's not exactly an ideal place for me to shop. I wind up with 800 cartoon t-shirts in my closet and none of my paycheck left over. That store is f*cking expensive. But the other benefit to shopping there is that it is THE ONLY STORE I have managed to find where I don't get weird looks and comments when I shop in the men's section. Most of the employees know me now, at least by sight, and they're aware of my transition. They've been very helpful in directing me to clothing that covers up my ample chest and hides my curves.

The down side to this, as I mentioned, is that I wind up with 800 cartoon t-shirts. Don't get me wrong; I LOVE cartoons. Plus, the alternatives to the cartoon shirts are:

a) Twilight sh*t (which I refuse to let disgrace my closet)

b) band shirts (mostly of bands I don't listen to)

But the cartoon shirts make me seem even younger than I already appear to be. I mean, I went to the store the other day to buy some alcohol, and the cashier stared at me for an uncomfortably long time before asking for my ID. Upon seeing that it was horizontal, meaning I am 21 or over, he said, "I'm sorry. You just don't look 21."

Read the ID, dude. I'm almost twenty-f*cking-three.

So I'm not in any dire need of anything that will encourage this concept of me. Unfortunately, that's the price I have to pay: immature and expensive clothes vs. harsh judgement and rudeness.