I have given up on bargain hunting for summer clothes after the Fourth of July. There are none. The remaining selections are unattractive and shopworn.
By the Fourth of July, the airy cotton tee shirts and sweaters have morphed into trapezoids from too many try-ons.
The hanger bumps require heavy construction equipment to remove. Lipstick and makeup smudges add to their ick factor.
I won’t mention the selection of swimsuits whose style would be better suited to a big box home improvement store.
Being a seasoned shopper I decided to forgo the annual trek to buy summer stuff at a bargain. Online shopping beats the Texas heat I think to myself as I begin my surfing marathon.
Daily promotional emails are promising unheard of bargains as I hustle off to the retailer’s websites. Unbridled greed screeches to a halt when I discover everything I want is unavailable in my size, color or style.
Moving on, I discover the remaining selections are so hideous that charitable organizations would refuse to accept them or send them off to China to recycle as rags.
Even worse, they flat out lied about the price of the item in their urgent email for special customers. “Special Customer” must be code for stupid.
I proceed to my next resource only to discover the deception continues. My excitement disappears as I read the online customer reviews. Clothing that captures my attention fades when I discover the fabric content is a mystery blend that no one has ever heard of.
My email inbox dings heralding another unbeatable sale. Scurrying over to the website, I discover the promotion was for behemoth sizes. Fluffy, I admit to, but this was uncalled for. I delete my account, respond to their survey and unsubscribe from their emails.
In another week or two, promotions for fall will begin. In the meantime, I’m wearing old clothes and big sunglasses.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.