Dry Skin, Expensive Salt, and Evy from Israel

Dear shoppers,

This past week, I’ve turned into a mall-walker. I hadn’t spent a dime on clothing or apparel (excluding a very inexpensive* watch) this year until just today while shopping for some new threads. I figured once I got to my physical fitness goal, I’d get some new clothes to fit my new physique. But things always seem to take a little longer than you expect, and I was fed up with not having a nice black jacket/coat, which was the first thing I had planned to get once I was down to my ideal body weight.

After a few department stores, I found one that I liked for a decent price. Also during my trek through the mall and surrounding stores, I found a nice chunky belt to go with jeans and an amazing pair of Steve Madden dressy-caszh**, subtly shiny, soft leather shoes. I would have never thought I’d swoon over a pair of men’s shoes, but it was love at first sight, and my love was cheap: $35 at Ross.

A lesson I learned while shopping is that you should probably do a bit of research before you lay down major paper on an outfit. After trying on a few blazers priced at $150+, I felt woefully bewildered at my lack of knowledge and thus fiddled on my Droid to find a decent article on outerwear selection. Though useful, the Droid was not meant for serious internet surfing. The cute salesgirl was helpful when I asked her opinion on a particular coat, though she seemed more interested in the jacket than in me. Bummer.

I’m thinking about having a recurring series on practical knowledge of men’s fashion written for regular Joes in contrast to the men’s fashion magazines aimed at flaming metrosexuals (even though I do aim to be a flaming metro myself).

While gleaning the windows at Baybrook Mall, I checked my posture via the reflection in the glass. I felt like I was growing into my new self. My reputation had preceded me while in school (as that smart guy who tutored peeps in obscure apocrypha***), but now my sphere predominantly contained complete strangers who know nothing of me. My confidence is steadily improving as I begin to feel again that I am wanted and needed by others.

Some of my female friends had said to me a while back that I was a ‘catch’ and that they’d set me up with their friends except none of them would have been worthy enough. It was like a scene out of Sex and the City where the girls try to comfort Charlotte in a dry spell. But like Charlotte and many poor souls who are forced to listen to that same consolation speech, I didn’t think I was worth all that much. Without my intelligence that people could pawn, why would they want to be with me or around me?

There are countless articles aimed at the fairer sex to explain the lack of manly interest in their feminine wiles. Some of these articles purport that once you figure out who you are, you will become irresistible to the opposite sex. Though I thought that was a load of crap at first, I am starting to feel the transformative power of my own self-knowledge and self-belief. In the crisp reflection in the looking glass at ExpressMen, I saw myself as attractive and as handsome as those manikins in their XS shirts & skinny ties and 29x32 slacks.

My back has straightened, my head is held high, and a smile is ever present on my lips. My stuttering has improved as I feel that people respect what I have to say. I feel absolutely great.

I don’t know what exactly has changed in me. But recently I’ve come to realize that I am my own best advocate. Who best to take care of me but me? Who will make me better except myself? Who can I always trust to seek out my own best interest? I guess the problem was that I wasn’t caring for numero uno the past couple of years, and so I distrusted myself, thus shredding any kind of self-confidence.

No matter. g is back and better, like the building of the uberman.
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So naturally, when the mall kiosk girl, Evy from Israel, smiled her delicious smile and pestered me to allow her to put some all-natural vegan salt scrub (from some remote, fantastic place) on my hands, I deigned to grant her wish. We talked about her wares, and as she used the water bottle to spray away the salt and the dead skin cells from my hands, I stared deep into her hazel eyes (hopefully in a non-creepy way) to try to disarm her and convince her of my newfound awesomeness.

During the conversation, she said that I was cute and had great skin likely in an attempt to manipulate me into buying some really overpriced lotions and hand scrubs. And maybe just a couple of months ago with my new wealth, I might have indulged her. But if I had given in, I don't think she would have respected me.

After she said her whole spiel about how great the cucumber-honey-fusion-exfoliating-lotion-with-extra-moisturizers was, I attempted to number-close.

Me: So, if I get these things, can I get your number with it? [I wasn’t going to buy the stuff to get her number. It’s the first line in the number-close routine I’m developing]

Evy: (non-hesitatingly with the same smile) Yeah, I can give you the number to the booth. I’m here 12 hours a day. [Evy gets hit on innumerable times every day and has developed a smooth sidestep, like a Spanish matador]

Me: Your home number perhaps? [But I am persistent]

Evy: (makes a cute frowny face) I am too old for you! [She’s in her late 20s at most. She had asked my age during the attempted sale probably as a tactic to build rapport and was now using that knowledge illicitly to reject my advance. There has to be a law against that!]

Evy continued with more reasons, i.e. excuses.

Me: (seeming dejected, considering a neg, but thought better of it) Oh, I suppose you’re right. I appreciate your time and for moisturizing my hands.

As I gently extricated myself from an awkward situation (two people trying to sell something to each other) and left the stand, I furtively peeked back. Evy looked like a fisherman whose catch had just gotten away.

Evy, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I had a far better chance of getting your number than you did of getting me to buy your product. You didn’t know that you wanted me, but that’s okay. It’s really my fault for not being able to convince you. Give me a couple of months, and I’ll remedy that. :)
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*$85 for a Citizen Eco-Drive
**caszh = ‘casual’ in g-speak
***knowledge of no use to anyone except research scientists