#177 - Don't Like Malls

Many Reasons

I'm not a big shopper and I don't like malls.  I don't like the crowds and I also don't like it when the mall's quiet... and I become a magnet to sales help. The music often annoys me and the strong scents make my eyes water. 

Mom-of-Groom-Dress

With only 22 days until Scott and Chali's wedding, I hit the mall today. I already have two maybe dresses at home, but it's time to make a decision.
At Macy's, I rushed past the cosmetics department in search of formal dresses.  I probably looked like the perfect candidate for a makeover, but I shook my head towards 2 different beauticians. I didn't have time for beauty advice. 

 

Dressing Room

I avoided the lurking older saleswoman near the "formal wear" and snatched 6 dresses, before dashing to the fitting room. Trying on dresses can be exhausting, but I was efficient and I have tons of energy these days.  But why can't I zip myself up anymore? Is it because I turned 60, 6 months ago? Or is this recent inflexibility due to my hormone blocking drugs?

​I actually asked a stranger for help.

Mother of the Groom Hair

I wasn't in love with any of the 6 dresses.  I wasn't in love with my hair either. A year ago I started growing my hair back. I thought I'd have more than this for a November wedding. But my friend reminded me yesterday, that the focus at the wedding will not be on my hair. Good reminder!

Avoiding Kiosks

Luckily I still had lots of energy, since I needed to make the cross country hike to Dillard's. The mall was fairly quiet on a Wednesday morning, which meant there were fewer shoppers to dodge. But there were also no crowds to hide me from the sales people standing beside their kiosks... looking for victims. I tried to remember my daughter's advice. "Don't be so nice, Mom. Avoid eye contact."  I scurried along, close to the shop entrances, but I was still invited to taste this and smell that. I was also invited to answer questions. 
​

Mall Walker

I made it halfway through the mall when I heard an older voice behind me. "Excuse me Ma'am..." Those are the very words I usually ignore, but the voice made me turn back. An older, African American woman, wearing a fanny pack, was obviously doing a mall walk. But she had a question.
​

Back of My Head

I halted my dash and walked towards her to hear her question. "Are those natural curls?" She asked, while we continued to walk in the same direction. I chuckled to put her at ease with my answer. "Oh, they're post chemo curls!" She didn't seem to react, which made me wonder if my answer surprised her. In fact what answer was she hoping for? And what did the back of my head look like anyway?  And why were my eyes picking that moment to tear up from my mall allergy issues? Now this poor woman would think I was emotional!

A few moments later she responded. "I lost my hair with chemo, too. It was harder losing my hair than my breasts."  Then it made sense why she stopped me. I made an attempt to bond with the sweet looking woman. "Yes, it's tough isn't it." But she didn't  have much else to say, which again made me wonder why she'd stopped me. If I'd answered, "Yes, my curls are natural." Would she have had more to say? Since she'd brought up the curls, I wanted to ask, "Wasn't your hair curly before cancer? Do you have tricks?" But of course I didn't. Usually this kind of people encounter would sort of delight me, but it felt odd. We chatted awkwardly a bit longer before going our separate ways.

An Odd Encounter

I spotted the woman a couple more times as she zigzagged in the mall. We didn't greet again, or I would have been tempted to say, "Do you like my curls?" Because our slightly awkward encounter reminded me of the "Go Dogs Go" book that I adored as a child. I felt like we were the 2 dog characters who repeatedly meet in passing... one asking the other, "Do you like my hat?" before moving on.

Spotted Again

I'm already a bad shopper, but I was suddenly feeling rattled and less patient. I found nothing at Dillard's and headed back through the mall, aiming towards home. 

I spotted the woman again, striking up a conversation with a younger African American woman. The young woman had curly hair and her gestures told me, she was answering questions about her hair.  ​

Pondering

At home I continued wondering about the woman and wondering about my hair. I glanced at a photo from another shopping attempt and I thought.

​The curly-head-image was one that I never would recognize as my own. So maybe the back of my head is kind of fun. Maybe I'll miss these curls. My hair is already getting straight in areas.

As for the woman... Was she just curious? Was she plain lonely? Was she a pickpocket and I'm missing my wallet? Or was just friendly, in an odd way? I guess I could go mall walking tomorrow and find out. Except, I don't like  malls.