Blue jeans please, supersized.

Well, it looks like it won’t be hard to save my money this year instead of spending it on shopping sprees.

Lindsay here, again.
I just had to tell you about my shopping experience today. Whit and I woke up excited Saturday morning to go blow a little of our paycheck on things we had been wanting. Some shoes, some clothes, a little this, a little that.

We rode our bikes downtown, but it started as one of those days where we just weren’t in the mood to shop. I felt better after we had a good Korean lunch, where I said, “I want what he’s having,” pointing at the table next to me. I ended up with a spicy soup with ramen noodles. Way better than its American counterpart, by the way. Whit had bipampap, a Korean staple of rice, egg, vegetables and red pepper sauce.

We started our shopping at a shoe store we found last week, before we had money but were still mentally listing what we were going to buy when we did. We bought a matching pair of Vans (canvas shoes), just a few shades off each other. After we started matching earlier this week, we thought, “Why stop there?” The people at the store spoke English. It was wonderful.

Last week, when we were out scouting what stores we wanted to return to with money, I found my store. It has everything a girl wants: purses, handbags, jewelry, barrettes on the bottom floor, and cute Korean clothes on the second floor. I have been eyeing the Korean style for weeks now. I’ve been dying to join the club with designer jeans, cutsie blouses and knee-length skirts. I had already picked out what I wanted.

Only one problem. None of it fit.
I tried on every pair of jeans, stupidly starting with the medium sizes and moving up, up, up and up until I had even passed “LARGE”. There was no higher number I could go to on the tags.

I was dumbfounded. And mad, to boot. The old Korean woman holding court outside the dressing room didn’t help. She kept trying to tell me something every time I came out to look in the mirror. The only part I understood was when she kept crossing her arms up in an X, the universal sign for “NO.”

It wasn’t a pretty experience. I walked out with a couple shirts that I found, even though my upper arms are still a smidge too big for them, and a skirt, with an elastic waist band. When all else fails, go with elastic.

Whit didn’t have much luck either. While the Korean women definitely know how to dress, the men decidedly do not. Their clothing is hideously flamboyant. Old man pants. Gaudy plaid shirts with all the wrong colors. Believe me, you don’t want to go there.

Our low spirits matched the rain, which was pelting down under an open sky. Out of nowhere. So we went to the underground mall, which winds it way through underground tunnels under downtown’s busiest thoroughfares.

And, finally, my luck changed. I stopped at one store to look at jeans. I don’t know why I like to punish myself. But I do. After trying a few more pairs, two nice shopowners took interest in my American-sized thighs and rear-end. They wanted to help. Really. The man talked me into a pair of jeans that were too long (because I had to get a bigger waist size). “Cut,” he said. “Cut.”

Fine, I thought. They looked almost good on me though too tight around the waist. Fine, I’ll go home and cut the extra foot off them.

He said, “Want to pay extra for cut?” I started realizing maybe they could hem them for me. I looked around. No sewing machine. But why not?

So I paid the extra dollar for the non-taxed jeans and a woman abruptly showed up out of nowhere, took the dollar from the shopowner and hurried me down the underground hallway to another shop where a man sat behind his sewing machine.

Sweet! I thought.

Within two minutes, my blue jeans were back in their bag, a new hem sewn into the bottom. Good as new. Better than new.

So, Mom, Mammaw and all of you out there who tried to teach me to hem, I’m sorry, but paying a dollar for a nice Korean man to hem my pants is WAY better than sticking myself over and over again with a needle for a crooked stitch.

While Koreans may have hips smaller than my ankles, at least they also have short legs. God bless them.

One Comment

  1. deborah says:

    I had a good laugh over the hemming. However, when you are in France someday with those long legged beauties and they don’t have a man to hem your pants for a $1 you’ll be glad your mom taught you how to hem!!!!!!!


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