Bellwether

I've made an alarming discovery. I went into two clothing stores today, asked for cargo pants, and got blank stares. Cargo pants have apparently gone "out" and wherever they happen to be, they've taken my hopes for reasonably-sized pockets on girl clothes with them. In their stead, the racks are full of jeans with prefixes like "matchstick" and "toothpick" and "super skinny". This does not bode well for the human race.

And it means I'm going to have to figure out how to sew cargo pants.

This happened to me with Dr. Martens awhile back. It made me feel old. And barefoot.

Speaking of popular trends, I just finished Bellwether by Connie Willis, which I highly recommend. Connie Willis writes science fiction, but generally not the spaceships-and-super-capes type; she writes fiction about scientists. And reasonably plausible ones at that. Give her a whirl. This one touches on chaos theory and herding instincts.

Both of which are inherently applicable to shopping for pants.

Look, I think we've well established that swingbug is not a good shopper. I do fine with yarn, and fabric, and the hardware store. I don't enjoy grocery shopping per say, but I'm efficient at it. These are all fairly raw goods, you'll notice. It's heavily processed items I'm no good at. I want to go into a clothing store knowing exactly what I need, where it's likely to be, and get out with minimal fuss, and without being confronted by cosmetic salespeople of any kind, as if I was running to the store for a gallon a milk. When I find a pair of pants that fits me and that I can acquire within the above approved criteria, I become a very loyal shopper. I will do a drive-by of your store, grab the item off the previously located rack, which I don't have to try on because I already know it fits. To salespeople, I would think this is a bonus. I'm not a big impulse buyer, I suppose, but you'll barely see me, you won't have to clean up after me, and yet I still give you money. That seems like a pretty good deal, right? So please don't move or discontinue perfectly reasonable body coverings for the denim version of saran wrap that's going to make to everybody uncomfortable and cranky for the foreseeable future and leave me stamping my feet and snorting in the middle of your store.

And now I'm off to scour thrift stores for any remaining remnants of reasonably-pocketed pants, while I ponder why anybody anywhere would want their legs to resemble small pointy pieces of wood people use to pick old bits of food out of their teeth. If you have an answer to this or any other of life's mysteries, please let me know.