Below Average

Ok, this might be another post about shopping. This time, however, I'm exposing the dark side of consumerism. Occasionally, if I've had a rough day, I visit two of my favorite therapists - Macy and Mr. Nordstrom. Their hourly rates can be fairly high, but I usually get my money's worth and leave their offices feeling much better than I did when I entered. I'm not completely faithful to both of them because I believe it's beneficial to explore all your options when dealing with the events of the day. Today I visited a therapist I only see on occasion. I will identify this therapist by location only - Banana Republic. I visited the downtown office and there were few other patients there, which was kind of nice. This office has different sections for clients with different needs. My condition forces me into the "petites" section (with the exception of coats and long-sleeve shirts - remember my "monkey arms"). If you look up the word "petite" in the dictionary, it offers you an array of synonyms including "baby", "wee", "elfin", and "below average." The last time I saw someone described as "below average," he was wearing a helmet, a harness, and Velcro shoes. The "petites" also have to use a separate dressing room from the full grown adults. Perhaps they are worried we will catch a glimpse of a normal woman and become enlightened to the real purpose of the plunging neck line. What's even worse is that they have to post a sign that says "petites." There were no other signs around, not even "Men" or "Women." Apparently the average person can tell the difference between a woman's shirt and a man's shirt, but needs a sign to figure out that the size 6X sweater that has been relabeled to a double-zero petite is for the "below average" clientele. What if your therapist had signs in the waiting room that said "Depressed", "Distracted", "In Denial", and "Downright Crazy"? Or better yet, "Below Average"? I would have to pull up a chair right in the middle.

My next stop was Albertsons. They allow me to peruse the aisles with average size adults so I began to feel a little better about myself. That changed when I reached the produce aisle. Some corporate genius thought it would be a good idea to put a big flat-screen tv above the bananas. For those of use who are easily distracted, this is the equivalent of putting speed bumps on a wheelchair ramp. One minute I'm practicing the delicate art of selecting bananas with the perfect ratio of yellow to green (you know, ripe enough for tomorrow but not too ripe by Monday), the next I'm watching some lady teach me how to discern whether you can eat the rind on a block of cheese. I was halfway through Rachel Ray's lesson on enchiladas when my husband called. He reminded me that I had stopped on the way home to get groceries for dinner, which usually comes before breakfast. I grabbed some mini carrots, baby red potatoes, Little Debbie cupcakes, and petite sirloin steak...and caught the short bus home.