“Aah!” I heard my son scream from behind the apartment door. “A stranger is trying to get into the apartment! It’s some kind of horrifying scarecrow in a dressy white belly shirt.”
“I’m not a stranger,” I said through the door. “I’m your mother. Please open the door. I can’t reach the handle. Quickly! This shirt is cutting off the circulation of my arms.”
“Mom?” he questioned as he spied me through the security peep hole. “You tried to buy fancy clothes in Tokyo again, didn’t you?”
“It said M size,” I defended myself. “I didn’t know that M meant microscopic.”
I know. I know. I know. I should have known better. As an American size, mature woman, I know it might be difficult for me to find designer apparel in my size (or the size I want to be) in Tokyo.
So, I’m stuck. I’m really stuck.
“I’m stuck!” I yelled at my son through the door. “Please open the door for mommy. OK, you’re right. I did it. I put on a dressy shirt that was too small for me. The collar is choking me. I need you to cut it off.”
“C’mon, Mom!” my son said. “Not again!”
I know. I know. I know. I should have known better. In fact, I learned it might be challenging to shop here when I first moved to town.
“I’m looking for a fancy dress for an event,” I had said to some mothers at the bus stop. “Does anyone know where I could buy one?”
I know. I know. I know. I should have known better. The recommended dress shop was a maternity store.
I was not expecting. And, I was not expecting that.
I know. I know. I know. I should have known better because last time I went clothes shopping, I promised myself I would never do it again.
“C’mon out so I can see,” my friend said. We were at a store in Shibuya that sometimes stocks foreigner sizes.
“What do you think?” I asked when I came out of the dressing room.
“What’s on your feet?” my friend questioned.
“Oh! Check these out,” I said as I waved my feet around. “These soft and nifty slippers were in the dressing room.”
“Those aren’t slippers,” my friend said as she looked around. “Those are make-up hoods. You’re supposed to put it on your head when you’re trying on new clothes.”
“That’s it,” I said to myself as I took off my slippers. “I am never going shopping in this town again.”
I know. I know. I know. I should have known better because again this morning I tried fashion fate and lost. As soon as I pulled the dressy white shirt over my broad shoulders, it got stuck. “I love it,” I barely whispered to the saleslady at the counter. “I love it so much that I will wear it just like this. Don’t mind my tears. Tears of joy, really. By the way, I can’t seem to turn my head or move my arms. Can you please just swivel me towards the door? Doomo.”
I know. I know. I know. I should have known better. So, that’s why, starting right now, I am only shopping for hats.
A hat keeps your head warm.
A Tokyo hat is very chic and makes a fashion statement.
A hat transforms a normal outfit into a wow outfit.
A hat hides a bad hair day.
A hat is one size fits all.
"It's all about Tokyo hatitude," I said to my son.
"Puns! Mom!," he said. "C'mon, not again!"
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