Misses

I've always ignored the "misses" part of a department store.

For the most part, the clothes they offer me there is shit I'd like to wear to something like... jury duty... or... a non-Latino's first communion.

I typically just buy t-shirts and jeans. I don't need to step foot in the "misses" section for that stuff.

Well, now that Rafa has been making such a huge deal about the state department (I had to give him some personal information yesterday so that they could "clear" me to get in), I've come to realize I'm probably going to want to look decent for this graduation ceremony two weeks from now (TWO WEEKS! JESUS!).

So what did I do today?

I went shopping in the "Misses" section of a department store.

Way to make me feel old.

I found myself looking for the business attire that showcased the most skin.

I make fun of Latinas for being drawn to skimpy shit and there I am, being one of the bunch... fearing NOT showing some cleavage will make me look Amish.

I'm convinced that behavior is fucking hardwired into a Latina's system.

Anyway, I decided to buy two dresses and make Rafa choose the more appropriate one. A job every man loves, I'm sure.

OF COURSE my favorite dress had to have a motherfucking missing button... a rather important button, the one smackdab in the middle of the torso... but... I'm trying to salvage it. Hopefully Rafa picks that one (like he'll give a shit. I'm sure his response will be something along the lines of "I DON'T CARE! Just don't look like a fucking hoe!").

Off that subject, but still kinda on the same track:

As I was driving to the store, Mom was getting freaked out over my skills... because... well, everyone pisses me off. Slow drivers, people who don't use their turn signals.... you name it, I probably have a fucking problem with it.

Mom: Ayy, mija! No sabia como manejabas! Por que andas tan agresiva?! (Oh, sweetie! I didn't know you drove like this! Why so aggressive?!)

Me: BECAUSE I NEED TO GET FUCKED!

...

Yeah... umm... talking my way out of that one was a doozy.

I was joking... but it still didn't fix the awkward silence... which followed us all the way to the male underwear section of the department store (underwear for Dad, nonetheless. That shit's always fun).