My wrists are really small and narrow. And you know what they say about men with small wrists, right? Small wristwatches.
My go-to wristwatch for cycling is the Timex Expedition’s girl model. It has a nite light for 2:00 AM leaky prostate issues, and a couple of alarms (one to wake you up, another to get you out of bed), a timer, and a stopwatch.
I like this wristwatch so much that I lose about two of them every year. At races when I change I have to take it off and set it somewhere. “Don’t forget to put it back on,” I always remind myself so that I can forget to put it back on. Then I get home and realize it was on the roof, or the hood, or the hatch, and I shop for another one.
Although I’m low tech I’m not no-tech, and I have to have a watch so I can at least a) get to the start on time and b) know how many minutes are left before I have to sprunt for 38th.
After yesterday’s TTT debacle, I lost my watch again and instead of ordering another one online Mrs. WM and I decided to go shopping. Since I wasn’t riding and haven’t been shopping for a few years it seemed like a great idea to see how the normals spend their Sunday. It was actually kind of complicated. It’s harder to get ready to go shopping than to go race yer fuggin’ bike.
I carefully selected the least ragged pair of jeans, the least washed-out BWR t-shirt, and the shoes that were in line to be worn today. First we stopped at Target. “They have lotsa Timexes,” Mrs. WM assured me.
I immediately found a very petite black one with a cute black-and-white stripe. It took me several minutes to decide between that one and the powder blue model, but I decided on black because it looked more manly. Then I wondered if I were really getting a good deal, so I looked it up online and found out that it was on sale for $8 less over across the way at Wal-Mart. “Hey, let’s go save $8 at Wal-Mart,” I said.
In my family, we’ll spend $30 on gas to save $8, so I was surprised when she nixed it. “Thatsa no good onna Wal-Mart. They sellin’ guns and ain’t havin’ a good policy for transpeople’s bathrooms so I ain’t goin’ over there.” Which sealed it. If you can’t have gun-free, gender-equitable toilets, you’re not getting Mrs. WM’s business, or by extension, mine.
The whole selection and checkout process took ten or eleven minutes and I was totally exhausted.
“Okay, let’s go home,” I said. “I’m beat.”
Mrs. WM looked at me funny. “We just got started. Now we’re onna mall.”
“Mall?” I said. “We just spent the whole morning at Target.”
“Itsa fifteen minutes. We’re goin.”
At the Del Amo Fashion Center Mall I realized that I was not very fashionable. We stopped at Starbucks and because we were there so early, it was before 11:00, there were only twenty people in line. All of them seemed happy to wait, and each person who ordered something skinny or low-fat wasn’t.
I got a double espresso and sat down while they screwed up Mrs. WM’s drink. We were too far out of PV for them to get her Asian name right. She eventually came to the table smiling. “They almost got it onna no mistakes! Thatsa good for a Starbucks dummies!”
“What do you mean? Your name’s Yasuko, not Yuko.”
She was undeterred. “But Yuko’s onna Japanese name. Usually they mess alla everything up.” She had a point.
Next we went to Nordstrom’s and on the way I admired the playscape for dads.
“What’re we going to Nordstrom’s for?” I asked.
“Itsa shoes sales.”
The last time I’d been at Del Amo mall it was a grungy place with a Cinnabon every ten feet and lots of scruffy normals. Since then they gave the mall a full body Euro wax, and I realized that whereas I ride my bike all week so that I can go perform at races on the weekend, the mall is where guys who work out at the gym all week go to perform their public flexing.
The normals all looked really happy, walking from shop to shop and shopping. Every store had everything on sale, which I guess meant that normally they were really ripping you off, or their sale price was still overpriced, or both. Mrs. WM visited a dozen places and bought something.
Finally we left the mall and then went to Costco and then to Home Depot, gradually going down the foodchain from Nordstrom couture to Home Depot’s hairy-bellybutton-peeking-out-of-t-shirt, and finished at Wing Stop. Every couple of months I like to take Ms. WM out to a fancy lunch, so we ordered the ten wing set and two big cups of water.
The employees were staring at me as I ate. I still can’t figure out why.
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