Battlefield Mall, Springfield MO

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11/26
Today I began to pack. Packing for me is incredibly stressful. I'd like to think that I don't have an attachment to my clothes, and that I could just be this nomad who wears the same hippy flip flops and tie dye skirt every day. Problem is, I love my heels and my boots and my BRAND NEW LEATHER SKIRT BABY.
The other stress is that when I do travel, I tend to try plan all my outfits so I don't over pack: hard to do when your vacations are usually three to four months abroad.
So this turkey day, after a long day of slaving at my job (being paid a quarter more an hour!) I went black Friday shopping. And it was beautiful, and everything I bought was amazing, but now, I have more clothes than before, along with two suitcases taunting me with far too little space.
La pava y el pavo
The turkey made me tired; but not tired enough to put on a cute outfit and drag my mother out of bed at midnight. I told myself I was only going, to celebrate the end of Thanksgiving, capitalism, and to probably run into all of Springfield in our only mall.
The Battlefield Mall:
The shoe clearance looked like a war zone: boot laces strung out on the floor, messy haired moms in yoga pants, trying to find a perfect winter heel for the frigid December weeks to come. Stepping over empty boxes, my mother and I fought our way out to the jeans. In front of me lied a pair of boyfriend jeans, one thing on my hypothetical black Friday list that I did not have, because my goal was to not spend money. But there they were, my size, and I grabbed them.
Those jeans meant I was in the game.
After working in retail, I knew that there was nothing worse than go-backs, putting clothes back together in a nice, clean, fashion after a bunch of Missourians destroyed them, probably trying to find a nice camo shirt. (No offense Missouri, I love ya.)
The go-backs were in shambles, my mom stopped shopping in an effort to try help and fold a couple of shirts on top of the mountains of other clothes. I also know after working in retail that I can't fold worth a darn.
MOM!
THIS IS A DISTRACTION!
MOVE WOMAN.
Pushing her along, we move onto the clearance section. The clearance section, where I find all my best deals, where my shopping genius lives and breathes. And there I find bliss, I find shirts and shorts and skirts. My arms are getting tired, sifting through hangers of clothes begging to be bought. The pile grows taller until I can hardly see over the mountain, parading my way to the dressing room. I figure not everything will be fabulous but it will be worth the effort.
I lied. Everything is fabulous.
And as the hours pass, I feel the muscles in my arms, my legs speed walking to the last paisley top, but my endurance is fading from the hours of shopping. Sitting in the dressing room, I begin to dream, dream until my mother asks me if I like or love her top. I dream that I am already home in my bed in new pajamas, and that the big giraffe stuffed animals on sale are asking me if they should get their shirt in a medium or small. I have to stay in the game; have to somehow convince my mom to buy me a new purse, and gathering all my strength I tell her the size doesn't matter because she looks like a MILK. *mother I'd like to kiss.*
We are almost finished: 
We reach the counter, debit cards in one hand, clothes in the other. As we make our payments I sling my new baby blue purse over my shoulder, as proof that we survived Black Friday Madness. It was nothing like going to Victoria Secret and getting lost in a stampede of bra hungry girls, but it was still pretty special, and I was grateful that my mom and I could celebrate good ol' capitalism at Battlefield Mall. Just now realizing that I may have exaggerated a little comparing shopping to a battle field. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

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