Domestic Psychology

Customer Service

// November 28th, 2011 // No Comments » // clothing, shops

After multiple suggestions to dress in layers when visiting New York, I bought a sweater for my travels. Knoxville’s winter is so brief that I usually just toss a coat on over my shirt. I didn’t really have layering clothes and it took some effort to find a sweater that was neither Granny-wear nor too fancy for mom chores.

During my New York visit, I quickly figured out that layers are piled on to go outside and peeled off when you step inside. On the day that I wore my brand new sweater for the very first time, I stepped in a museum and removed my jacket. I immediately noticed that the area of my sweater which protrudes had been felted into two bullseyes by my jacket. It was hot and uncomfortable, but I kept my jacket on the entire day.

When I returned to Knoxville, I emailed the jacket’s manufacturer. They responded to my email by acknowledging prior awareness of the design flaw and the suggestion that I shop from them again in the future when that flaw would be remedied. Their response rubbed me as raw as their jacket did my sweater.

I would have appreciated a suggestion on how to fix the flaw. I would have been satisfied by an apology and a joke about my boob target sweater. I would have been grateful to an offer to let their clothing experts attempt a repair of my sweater. Being told that they knew about the problem and never notified customers was disappointing. The suggestion that I should buy more was annoying.

I’m probably the only liberal who doesn’t believe in boycotts. If my children need something from a company whose policies are different than mine, my children’s needs will always come first. Yet, I could not bring myself to take advantage of the jacket company’s Black Friday or Cyber Monday sales. How can I give them my money in exchange for customer service that won’t even attempt to remedy their mistakes?

It fit yesterday

// November 9th, 2011 // 2 Comments » // children, clothing

There has been some unauthorized growing by the children. Not one of them filled out the proper paperwork declaring their intent to have growth spurts. They completely disregarded the two weeks notice rule. Since the penalties for unauthorized growth are getting to wear shorts in the winter, the children don’t really take seriously my need to know that nothing in their closet fits more than five minutes before the school bus arrives in the morning.

Neither boy teen nor the 6-y-o are willing to go shopping for their new clothing. They are also disinterested in trying on the clothing that I buy and bring home. I am occasionally able to convince them to try on one thing for size, but usually they become oddly philosophical at my request. “Why? Why do I need to ‘try’ it? Can’t I just wear it? Does it matter?” Shopping for the boys is a guessing game with only one guess and the winner gets children in jeans that fit while the loser has sons happily running all over town looking like scarecrows.

Is there some crossover version of Wii Fit and Sims that could size children correctly for clothing while they are hopping around killing zombies, racing cars shooting things?

Doug shopping

// October 4th, 2011 // No Comments » // clothing, Doug

How Doug shops for anything at the hardware-ish store:
1. Visually survey all possible options.
2. Pick up and touch each option.
3. Use app to read reviews of each option.
4. Interview two store employees about each option.
5. Use another app to price check each option.
6. Think of an alternative technique involving completely different materials.
7. Repeat steps 1 – 6 with alternative technique’s materials.
8. Decide original method is preferrable.
9. Return to studying original options.
10. Choose item.
11. Question your choice the entire ride home.
12. Use item and rejoice.

How Doug shops for clothing:
1. Walk to nearest store employee.
2. Point to a mannequin.
3. Say, “I’ll take that outfit.”
4. Pay for clothing.

Whatcha wearing?

// September 30th, 2011 // No Comments » // clothing

Yesterday, there was very minor kerfluffle because coverage of an event by our local alt-media included color commentary of wardrobes. Shoes and gender discrimination seemed to be the focus of the discussion. Deep down, it was a misdirection by the main complainant, but everyone chimed in and it snowballed into pie recipes.

Anyone with a small town in their history knows all too well that the community papers which have almost disappeared, use clothing descriptions in articles about social gatherings as a writing art form. Small town columnists use carefully worded descriptions of attendee outfits to say everything or nothing about the event and the people there. The mention of a designer label could be used to praise the wearer’s taste or hint at illicitly gained money depending on the writer’s intent.

Good writing about the costumes that people choose for their public persona is neither sexist nor pointless. As for shoes, I notice footwear that other people wear and if you are in earshot you will hear me notice it. I love spiky, chunky, shiny and silly shoes that I see on other women. I do marvel at their ability to wear extremely fancy shoes when my feet hurt just thinking about wearing them. Shoes are art and it takes an athlete to wear some of them. The world just seems a little bit more beautiful because of those shoes.

Once upon a time, I sat in Market Square watching hordes of teens and preteen girls dressed in shirts worn as dresses and cowboy boots. Just before a migraine took over my ability to function, I commented on Facebook about the silliness of this fashion trend just as my mother would have mumbled complaints via soup cans on a string when I went through a phase of oversized t-shirts and slouch boots with leggings. I think the shirt and cowboy boots look is ridiculous outside of a bar or club. Someone used my comment as an excuse to tell me my backside is big (no duh) and then posted on their own wall that I was calling the slut walk participants sluts.

I was there for the slut walk and the cowboy boot/shirt teens and girls were not participating in it. I did not call them sluts and the entire point of the slut walk is that women don’t “ask” to be raped based on what they wear. That has absolutely zero to do with my feelings about a fashion trend. I will discuss issues with you, but I am too tired and time is too short to deal with misdirection.

I get that the next six weeks are going to be brutal for the people of Knoxville who feel strongly about our next Mayor. Since we can’t unfriend everyone, let’s try to focus on the issues instead of attacking each other.

They never fall for this

// July 30th, 2011 // No Comments » // children, clothing

“Yes, it used to be <- insert name of older sibling here ->‘s, but this is a gender neutral <- insert article of clothing here ->. You’ll look fine.”

how not to shop

// June 20th, 2010 // No Comments » // clothing

After many weeks of listening to “I don’t have aaaaanything to wear” whines several times a day, I took the clothing-deprived complainer to a discount department store. Before we walked in the store, I asked what our focus would be. “I definitely need shoes. I also need pants and shirts. Oh, also socks and underwear.”

I wandered the clearance and sale racks, collecting more than a dozen potential clothing choices. As I did, my companion picked two black shirts to show me. I stood and waited while the mountain of options disappeared into the dressing room.

Another woman stood nearby, shouting at an unseen person in the dressing room. “Come out here so I can see if it fits.” The unseen shopper answered. “These pants are itchy. Can’t I just get jeans?” I could see the woman’s frustration, but missed the rest of their conversation as I wandered off to search the clearance rack for anything I might have missed. Nearby, a woman fussed with her shopping partner about the patterns on the t-shirts. “You don’t need any more shirts with dragons on them.” “But, this one has TWO dragons.”

My companion emerged from the dressing room. “I like these shirts, but the pants don’t fit.” We played 20 100 questions as I tried to figure out what “don’t fit” really meant. I collected different pant sizes while my shopping buddy took a potty break.

I checked e-mail, twittered and contemplated the condition of my toenail polish while the second round of pants were tested for fit. “They all fit and this pair is awesome. Feel how smooth they are. Really. Feel this fabric.”

We wandered to the shoe department. A woman walked around mumbling to herself. “Why do I have to buy them, take them home and bring them back four times just to get one pair he’ll wear?” A pitiful shopper whimpered, “I like my oooold shoes. New shoes make my feet hurt.” My companion scowled and passed judgment on the entire department in 30 seconds. “They don’t have any good shoes here.”

We checked out and walked to the car. “Why did you make me buy clothes?” Next year, every woman in that store should buy their shopping companions spouses iTunes instead of clothes for Father’s Day. Unfortunately, I still have to take Doug shoe shopping.

just like daddy

// May 20th, 2010 // 1 Comment » // clothing, Doug, kid quotes

First night: “Why can’t I sleep nekkid like Daddy does sometimes?”

Second night: “Can I just wear jammie bottoms and no shirt like Daddy wears?”

Third night: “Doug, I need you to start wearing panties and a gown at night.”

big girl underoos

// April 8th, 2010 // 7 Comments » // clothing, me

Since candy and education are so controversial (who knew?), let’s talk about the clothing that women wear under their clothes. It had been more than four years since I bought new under the clothes clothing for my bottom half. The situation was getting to the point that it would be very embarrassing if I was in an accident. I took advantage of an online bargain and ordered a few pairs late one night while staring at my computer. Even though I ordered from a store that is in the mall down the road, it took almost three weeks for the few teeny pieces of fabric and elastic to arrive. When I say teeny, I mean that in the four years since I last bought this exact same size and style, the actual pattern has changed so that there truly is less fabric. Oddly, the new style fits better than the old style, it just took some time to adjust to the new cut. I was caught off-guard by the pair that was named “large blue rose” that should have been named “covered in GLITTER” to warn the buyer. The vaglitter result is not a good look for middle-aged moms.

The under the clothes clothing for my upper half was an equally dire situation. For the past two years I have only had one of these items that are worn daily. The wires escaped from all of the others and without the wires, they were pretty pointless. So, the past two years have been spent standing beside the dryer waiting for it to finish drying that item or running around the house trying to find the item, as it apparently has some kind of invisibility power. Unfortunately, it didn’t have any cloaking or reduction abilities when it was on my body. It did have straps that were constantly trying to sneak down my arms to, I don’t know, maybe they wanted to join the missing wires. Aaaaanyway, I had a few pairs of new lower items, so I determined that I would find one new upper item.

I went in the mall to the store where big girls go to buy their underoos and filled my arms with one of every kind in the hopes that something would fit. The burly dressing room guard stopped me. No. The size ZERO, cheerful, twenty-something blocked my path. “When was the last time you were fitted?” The honest answer to that question would have been never, but I politely said “a while” and before the words were finished, I was accosted by a tape measure. Actually, it was a quick and painless measure once, measure twice and then she looked at the pile of potential purchases in my hands. “Ohhh, those are WAY too big for you. You need two sizes smaller. I’ll be right back!” If she hadn’t raced away so quickly, she would have felt the burn of my evil death ray eyes. Smaller? Grrr. She was back much too quickly with only three items. Determined to prove her wrong, I tried one on and rang the bell that brought her back to my oddly lit dressing room. “Oops. You need a double d instead of a single. Be right back.” My ego lifted slightly at the prospect of something that sounded like an improvement over the two number sizes smaller. When I tried the double letter item on, I shouted instead of pushing the button. “It fits!”

It may be pathetic, but I walked out of that dressing room clutching that wonderful under the clothing item of clothing like it was a Gold medal that I had just won in the Underwear Olympiad. Now that I have rediscovered the thrill of new, properly fitting, under the clothes clothing, I want to find some that MATCH. Hold the glitter.

dramatic pauses included

// March 24th, 2010 // 2 Comments » // clothing, kid quotes, preschoolers

The 4-y-o dressed himself in his favorite jeans and his favorite shirt. He went through a series of odd poses as he studied the clothing on his tiny frame. “Mom?” “What?” “I . . . look . . . awesome.” “Yes, you do.” “I . . . am a cool dude.”

We have entered the beautiful season when the siren song of the outdoors has the young and old wandering about in a dreamy haze. Because I’m a mean mom who won’t allow the 7-year-old to wear summer clothes to school yet, Amy races inside after school and changes into last year’s too small shorts and tees as though long sleeves are suffocating her. She emerges from her cocoon of well fitting winter clothes chirping cheerfully. “Evan! How can you stand to wear long sleeves and long pants? Want me to bring you better clothes?” “No.” “But, you look hot.” “No. I . . . look . . . awesome.”

Every household needs a mini Shatner.

not so deep thoughts

// November 19th, 2009 // No Comments » // clothing, teenagers

In the moment of stunned silence that I realized Noah outgrew the clothes that fit him a few days ago, I briefly visualized Noah as a large green Hulk in tiny, tattered clothing. I wonder if the misunderstood Hulk would have been so cranky if he hadn’t been stuck wearing Bruce Banner’s pants.