Oxymoronic Shopping

Okay, I am the FIRST person to go ape shit if someone says the word "same difference."

Why?

Because it is annoying and because it SIMPLY DOESN'T EXIST. Each term cancels itself completely out, creating a gaping hole at the beginning, middle, or end of a sentence. And, the word is usually employed to make a certain point or win an argument, ultimately rendering its user a complete dumbass. *

Because I am so passionately against this word and all it stands for* . . . Please y'all, never use this word again.

I have to give you my personal stance on oxymorons and how much I hate them so we can all enjoy the irony that is Miss Hershey McJones. You see, dear readers, the ultimate hater of all things oxymoronic (particularly the term 'same difference') is . . .

An oxymoron. I am a SHOPPER who does not want to be sold.

Let me paint you a picture:

I'm in the mall with my good friend, Asal, shopping for the dress that will perfectly swaddle my newly, svelte figure as I am the maid of honor in her upcoming wedding. Clearly, a dress like this should be classy, but sexy, beautiful and stunning but not in any way direct attention away from the breathtaking bride and HER DRESS*.

With high standards and a clear directive (and not to mention a size 6 body and size 12/14 boobs, which sounds totally cool but I can assure you is decidedly NOT), clearly I am on a Level 5 Alarm Shopping Trip. I am here to shop, but people try to SELL me shit all the time while gallavanting from mall to mall.

Kiosks trolls, mostly of African-American and Middle Eastern descent, trying to sell me hair extensions and cellular phones and hand lotion.

Anorexic sales girls trying to upsell shoes and telling me about the latest discounts and sales.

Cash register matrons fervently pitching the store credit card hawking a measly 10% discount which will surely do more damage to my Sallie Mae-slashed credit rating than it's fucking worth.

Pockmarked, angst-ridden teenagers in severly ill-fitting skinny jeans trying to get me to sample Auntie Anne's pretzels. (Double fucking ew because those toothpicks look RECYCLED)

Gay dressing room attendants "checking in to see if I'm okay with the size." Their voices through the dressing room partitions and curtains grate my very soul.

I HATE YOU ALL.

Which is no wonder I ended up buying my dress from ebay.

Footnotes:
- Or a fucking third grader.
- Namely abject stupidity and the lack of a solid vocabulary, an ailment that I am blessed not to suffer from as my vocabulary is extensive.**
- Seriously, I've seen the shit and it's a PROCESS getting into it. She deserves any and all eyes in the room to be solely on her due to the amount of labor we'll both expend just getting it ON.

Footnote footnotes:
- Owing mainly to my father's need to impress his friends with his "super kid's" private education and the ability to memorize a shitload of flashcards.