I usually like to buy my fashionable ensembles at thrift stores, 'cause your trash is my treasure, baby….but on this day some strange urge makes me brave the clamor of the mall to go to the Gap. I tend to avoid the mall like I do the grocery store, and I realize that I haven't been to the Gap since the purchase of my favorite jeans…on a drunken shopping spree with Shakira 2 years ago. (The Magic Silver Pants? Oh yeah. -Shakira) Can I tolerate the Gap when I haven't been drinking? We shall see.

I get to the mall and park about 15 miles away and trudge through throngs of people to get to the Gap. I am already overwhelmed by the time I get there when I remember the two things I hate most about the Gap: the throbbing music and the obsequious, over-eager sales staff. Ugh. I barely get myself into the store when a wildly cheery girl asks me how she can help me. I mumble that I am just looking, thanks. She chirps, "Okaaayeeee! My name is Katie if you need anything." I stifle the response, "Well now that you mention it Katie, I could use some earplugs and a valium," and make my way to the women's jeans.

Oh my God, how can there be so many jeans to choose from? I stare blankly at the array of choices until I hear a male voice bleating at me, "Are you looking for a size??"

"I'm just comparing the colors," I say, and smile as he looks at me quizzically.

"Well my name's Andrew!" he says with a huge grin. "Let me know if I can help!" and then he skips toward some other customer. God, I feel like there is a ton of pressure on me here at the Gap. I just want to quietly pick out some jeans and leave this hell-hole of pounding bass and happy people. I suddenly catch sight of Katie prancing toward me, so I grab 2 pairs in my size and run to the dressing room.

I am unsuccessful in my choices. The first pair is comfortable, but my ass-crack is totally hanging out. A strange look for me, to be sure. Yeah, I don't think I can pull it off even if I wear a really great looking thong. Forget it. The other pair has a waist that feels like it goes up to my armpits. Ugh. Do they not have an in-between? I sorrowfully realize that I must consult one of the cheery salespeople at this point. Sighing, I take my 2 rejected pairs out of the dressing room. A bored looking salesguy with a sleeve of tattoos on his arm is standing near the dressing room and folding things. He looks up and smiles, but doesn't look like he's about to give me a big hug so I feel ok approaching him. I tell him that I have a question about the merchandise and he tells me to fire away. I explain my problem with the too-low waist and the too-high waist. He actually grimaces when he sees the high-waisted jeans. He gently takes them from me and says, "I refuse to sell these to you. They are for old ladies. My MOM wears them." I have the brief and horrifying thought that I might be the same age as his mom, but he has to be at least 18 to have that sleeve of tattoos…so it just couldn't be possible.

He leads me to another wall of jeans and introduces me to the "boot cut" jean. I guess that means you can wear them with boots? I don't know. I don't ask. He gets me a pair of normal ones and a pair of "stretch" ones. I fear the stretch jeans. I picture my legs looking like chubby sausages squeezed into dark blue casing. But I bow to his expertise and try both pairs on. The normal boot cut jeans look pretty good. The waist is neither too high, nor too low and they are pretty comfortable. But the stretch jeans…DAMN!! They look GREAT! I check myself out in the mirror and see how the jeans flatter my round butt. Excellent! And they are so comfortable. I come out of the dressing room to share my glee with Tattoo Boy, and exclaim, "These are great!! They fit my ass like a glove!!! You're a genius!" Oh how the tables have turned: I am cheerier than the whole Gap staff! I bolt back into the dressing room, admire myself once again, and put on my own clothes. I want to kiss Tattoo Boy, but I think that would be too much, so I wave to him, rush up to the register to make my purchase, and happily escape the store. Done!

For a successful Gap experience, I recommend downing a strong cocktail before entering the Gap. Do NOT make eye contact with uber-cheery Gap employees until you have a Gap dilemma. Try to find the most disinterested looking employee and approach with your question. Get what you need and then get the hell out of there.

While I sort of hate the Gap, I cannot seem to forsake it. But a couple of drinks certainly would have made my experience less jarring. Live and learn. Still, I feel incredibly successful in my shopping mission. Praises to Tattoo Boy! Praises to the Ass-Glove Jeans!!

-Gigi 02.27.03