Shopping for Pants
If I didn't know any better, I'd think that she walks around half-naked. But she's too modest to do that. I mean, we're talking about a person who really doesn't wear shorts--not even in summer--so the idea of going sans pants is ridiculous. Which means she must have at least a few pairs of trousers hanging in her closet. More than a few pairs, probably, considering how many times a year she shops for pants. And yet, at least for the last 20 years or so, she's always searching for those pants.
"I need to head out and look for pants," she says, forking the last bits of egg into her mouth.
"You don't say." Inside my mind, I reel. I roll my eyes and huff my breath, any number of gestures that exhibit my impatience, all unbeknownst to her since she's looking elswhere. "What do you need the pants for?" I wonder if she is scheduled to attend a function, or if she has accepted a job or a volunteer position. Any of those reasons would be good excuses to go shopping for pants.
"Well, you know. I don't wear dresses." She blinks twice, wipes her mouth with her napkin, and says no more, indicating she's done with the topic. Maybe she thinks I understand, that I, too, go shopping for pants several times a year. But I don't go shopping for pants and I don't understand, because what I want to know is why on earth she needs to shop for pants today. On the day I drove into town. To see her.
Maybe it's my fault. After all, she didn't know I was coming. I had planned a surprise, a quick trip to say Hi, and all of a sudden, there I was, standing before her. But a shopping trip could wait, couldn't it? I knew she wasn't down to her last pair of pants, and I'd just traveled 200 miles to see her. Couldn't she have said, "I had planned on going shopping for pants today, but now that you're here, I won't. I can do that another day."
For she can go shopping another day, as she's shown me for so long. But in the moment when I think this, I realize that the actual act of buying pants is not the point. Finding a pair of pants, paying for the pants, bringing home the pants...it doesn't matter if those actions occur. If she finds a pair of pants, she will still, two months from now, need to go shopping for more pants.
The question should be "Why does she need to go?" but clarity overtakes me, hard. Shopping for pants is similar to the never ending stack of mail that she needs to go through, the files that always must be taken care of, the weeds that threaten to overtake the house. Those concrete tasks represent a busyness that takes her away from the world she lives in--the one full of denial and pain, the one in which she's lost much control.
It's my fault for not saying something or not asking why she couldn't stick around to visit with me. But I've learned a few other things over the last 20 years besides the fact that she goes shopping for pants more frequently than some people shop for soap. I've learned that even if I inform her that I'm annoyed, she'll have a rebuttal. I've learned that the rebuttal will make her frustrated. And that even if she caves to my demands, and stays to spend time with me, the change in her mind will be due to guilt, not based on sincere intention. So the time she does spend with me will be awkward and forced. I don't like awkward and forced conversation, so instead of sticking around, I say, "Goodbye and good luck. I hope you find some pants."
As I wave to her and turn away, I remember something else I've learned: how to be sympathetic toward someone's place in life. I don't know what she's going through and thankfully, I've never walked a mile or two in her shoes. And so next time, when she says that she needs to go shopping for pants, I'm going to offer to drive her.
"I need to head out and look for pants," she says, forking the last bits of egg into her mouth.
"You don't say." Inside my mind, I reel. I roll my eyes and huff my breath, any number of gestures that exhibit my impatience, all unbeknownst to her since she's looking elswhere. "What do you need the pants for?" I wonder if she is scheduled to attend a function, or if she has accepted a job or a volunteer position. Any of those reasons would be good excuses to go shopping for pants.
"Well, you know. I don't wear dresses." She blinks twice, wipes her mouth with her napkin, and says no more, indicating she's done with the topic. Maybe she thinks I understand, that I, too, go shopping for pants several times a year. But I don't go shopping for pants and I don't understand, because what I want to know is why on earth she needs to shop for pants today. On the day I drove into town. To see her.
Maybe it's my fault. After all, she didn't know I was coming. I had planned a surprise, a quick trip to say Hi, and all of a sudden, there I was, standing before her. But a shopping trip could wait, couldn't it? I knew she wasn't down to her last pair of pants, and I'd just traveled 200 miles to see her. Couldn't she have said, "I had planned on going shopping for pants today, but now that you're here, I won't. I can do that another day."
For she can go shopping another day, as she's shown me for so long. But in the moment when I think this, I realize that the actual act of buying pants is not the point. Finding a pair of pants, paying for the pants, bringing home the pants...it doesn't matter if those actions occur. If she finds a pair of pants, she will still, two months from now, need to go shopping for more pants.
The question should be "Why does she need to go?" but clarity overtakes me, hard. Shopping for pants is similar to the never ending stack of mail that she needs to go through, the files that always must be taken care of, the weeds that threaten to overtake the house. Those concrete tasks represent a busyness that takes her away from the world she lives in--the one full of denial and pain, the one in which she's lost much control.
It's my fault for not saying something or not asking why she couldn't stick around to visit with me. But I've learned a few other things over the last 20 years besides the fact that she goes shopping for pants more frequently than some people shop for soap. I've learned that even if I inform her that I'm annoyed, she'll have a rebuttal. I've learned that the rebuttal will make her frustrated. And that even if she caves to my demands, and stays to spend time with me, the change in her mind will be due to guilt, not based on sincere intention. So the time she does spend with me will be awkward and forced. I don't like awkward and forced conversation, so instead of sticking around, I say, "Goodbye and good luck. I hope you find some pants."
As I wave to her and turn away, I remember something else I've learned: how to be sympathetic toward someone's place in life. I don't know what she's going through and thankfully, I've never walked a mile or two in her shoes. And so next time, when she says that she needs to go shopping for pants, I'm going to offer to drive her.
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