My little embroidered “wallet” bust its zipper the other day (diagnosis: too many club cards) and after nearly a week of dumping the large collection of contents into my bag every time I wanted a bus token, I decided that today would be the day to buy a new wallet.
Being of limited means (an Alanis Morisette-variety irony not lost on me) I (sigh) went to Winners for this purchase. Somewhere out there, my friend Sahi read that sentence, wiped away a tear and said to her man friend “Oh, honey. Little Roro’s becoming a woman.”
Winners is not my favourite place. You’ll often find 25 of the same extremely ugly pink faux snakeskin wallet with the Guess logo all over it and then maybe one sort of nice wallet. Then you might reach out to pick up the nice wallet and then the blonde shopping barracuda next to you might snatch it from under your fingers in case SHE wants it because it’s Winners and this is the only one.
I was willing to let this go, because really - I just wanted something functional. And you should have seen the Flo Jo set of talons on this babe. But as the barracuda picked over the wallet shelves, I noticed that she was taking ALL of the good wallets (three). And then she started walking around the store with them.
I tried not to let this bother me, but as I picked over the barracuda’s leavings, I grew more and more incensed. No one needs three wallets! She couldn’t have just decided which one she liked and left the other two for me? And why are the rest of these SO FUGLY? She doesn’t have a basket, I thought to myself. She HAS to put them down sometime. She won’t notice if a creampuff with a duck purse and a covetous look in her eye follows her around the store.
So that’s what I did. I followed this woman through the purse section, the sock area, the lingerie racks, the shoe shelves . . . I even followed her when she pointedly entered areas that didn’t apply to me (like “Petites"). I looked at size 4 sequined halter tops half a rack down from her until, in the housewares nook, I saw my chance. She had leaned down to pick up a large planter and found it was too heavy to lift with just one hand. She balanced the wallets on the shelf above and that’s when I made my move.
As the barracuda turned her back and bent over the planter, I sidled quickly up the aisle and snatched the wallet I wanted. Pausing briefly to check out her ass, I beat a hasty retreat to the cashier, weaving through the children’s racks and the clearance bins, being careful not to look back, as I know, from watching the Discovery Channel, that barracudas always go for the face.
The drama ends there - I bought my wallet without interference and emerged triumphant, blinking a little in the sun, feeling like I’d just won a race. I pranced my way to library for my research session, occasionally fondling my new wallet on the way.
So, now, I don’t know about this whole Winners thing. It’s still not a place I’d choose to shop but . . . if I was looking for a little action, a little DANGER in my life, I might consider going in again. Maybe the shopping barracuda has reminded me of something we lesbians have known for years. A little snatch can be really exhilarating.