Shring!

My alternative choice for a post title was "Daffy's: Bringing Cheap New Yorkers Together Since 1961!"

Long trips always necessitate shopping for me: this is partially because I am a shitty packer, and partially because it's a prime means of entertainment for me.  It's like playing dress-up!  In clothing that you can take home, if you like it enough!  Admittedly, this qualifies as a "move" and not a "trip," but I'm still living out of a suitcase for two weeks, so ... shopping!

On Thursday,vschanoes  and I ducked into a Daffy's with the putative goal of finding her a sweater (baby, it's cold outside!  and I am loving every second, coming fresh off of an LA summer).  However, as I believe I have mentioned before, purpose-driven shopping never works.  If you go out looking for black pants, you come home with red shoes: if you go out looking for red shoes, you come home bearing a fedora trimmed with peacock feathers and an embarassed smile.  You just have to go with it: it is the Zen of Shopping. 

So we went looking for a sweater for her, and instead ... shring!  For me.

"Hey, look!" I said.  "It's a thing!"  "Gee, could you be any less descriptive?" said she. 

"No, look!  It's a vaguely translucent shrug-thing with kimono sleeves!"  

And she looked, and looked again, and went, "Huh!" and some lady across the aisle burst into a peal of delighted laughter, said that she didn't know what the hell we were looking at, but she liked the description, and came over to try it on.  Of course, first I had to explain that there was no way to pull it over your head, short of wearing it as a burnoose, but eventually we got it sorted, and, alas, it was too small for her.  So, she flipped the tables and talked me into trying it on - worst case scenario, it's a conversation piece! - and, frankly, my shring is fetching.

Other Daffy's shoppers thought so too: a pretty Asian lady in her 50s with cats-eye makeup and a high pony-tail who appeared to be channeling Pat Fields started babbling about giant broaches and purse dogs, and there was applause, and it's all a bit of a blur.  Seriously, this is the friendliest I have ever seen my fellow New Yorkers, short of a blackout.  And at the end of the day, I am the proud owner of a shring.  I plan to accessorize it with a giant cigarette holder and a sloshing martini glass as I tap into my inner Auntie Mame.  

Aside: V. and I spent the rest of the day rhyming shring - "shrug-thing" - with things, and substituting it on the slant.  This resulted in Shring Kong (because the only thing better than me tapping in to my inner Auntie Mame is Kong doing so, obviously), and "Shring, shrong, the witch is dead!"  This also led to the question ... if the shring is a shrug-thing, what so the shrong?  Obviously, it would be the shrug-thong.  Look for it soon at a Daffy's near you!

Shring!

My alternative choice for a post title was "Daffy's: Bringing Cheap New Yorkers Together Since 1961!"

Long trips always necessitate shopping for me: this is partially because I am a shitty packer, and partially because it's a prime means of entertainment for me.  It's like playing dress-up!  In clothing that you can take home, if you like it enough!  Admittedly, this qualifies as a "move" and not a "trip," but I'm still living out of a suitcase for two weeks, so ... shopping!

On Thursday,vschanoes  and I ducked into a Daffy's with the putative goal of finding her a sweater (baby, it's cold outside!  and I am loving every second, coming fresh off of an LA summer).  However, as I believe I have mentioned before, purpose-driven shopping never works.  If you go out looking for black pants, you come home with red shoes: if you go out looking for red shoes, you come home bearing a fedora trimmed with peacock feathers and an embarassed smile.  You just have to go with it: it is the Zen of Shopping. 

So we went looking for a sweater for her, and instead ... shring!  For me.

"Hey, look!" I said.  "It's a thing!"  "Gee, could you be any less descriptive?" said she. 

"No, look!  It's a vaguely translucent shrug-thing with kimono sleeves!"  

And she looked, and looked again, and went, "Huh!" and some lady across the aisle burst into a peal of delighted laughter, said that she didn't know what the hell we were looking at, but she liked the description, and came over to try it on.  Of course, first I had to explain that there was no way to pull it over your head, short of wearing it as a burnoose, but eventually we got it sorted, and, alas, it was too small for her.  So, she flipped the tables and talked me into trying it on - worst case scenario, it's a conversation piece! - and, frankly, my shring is fetching.

Other Daffy's shoppers thought so too: a pretty Asian lady in her 50s with cats-eye makeup and a high pony-tail who appeared to be channeling Pat Fields started babbling about giant broaches and purse dogs, and there was applause, and it's all a bit of a blur.  Seriously, this is the friendliest I have ever seen my fellow New Yorkers, short of a blackout.  And at the end of the day, I am the proud owner of a shring.  I plan to accessorize it with a giant cigarette holder and a sloshing martini glass as I tap into my inner Auntie Mame.  

Aside: V. and I spent the rest of the day rhyming shring - "shrug-thing" - with things, and substituting it on the slant.  This resulted in Shring Kong (because the only thing better than me tapping in to my inner Auntie Mame is Kong doing so, obviously), and "Shring, shrong, the witch is dead!"  This also led to the question ... if the shring is a shrug-thing, what so the shrong?  Obviously, it would be the shrug-thong.  Look for it soon at a Daffy's near you!