Spring Cleaning in the Summer

Today, my mother and I ripped all the clothes out of my closet (which resembled nothing more than an exponentially growing, mutated ball of cloth), and sorted them all.  I even got rid of things, which is saying a lot, seeing as my room looks like it belongs on TLC's Hoarders show.  Now, my closet is basically just as full, but NEAT for the first time in literally years.  It's quite refreshing.

I had planned on writing more the other day, when I was accosted by a lady selling hair straighteners.  I had been out to lunch with my friend, as she was about to leave for college.  Then, I had needed a bathingsuit, so I walked around the mall for an hour looking for one.  It was very exciting and not at all frustrating when H&M had only bottoms (except for a truly hideous, skimpy, patriotic thing...), Sears had suits that would look presentable in a nice restaurant on a cold evening, and Kohl's became the scariest place in the world.  To make matters even... better.... I was wearing these brown pumps that really should not have been used to walk for above 30 minutes around the neighborhood.  So, by the time I was looking around for bathing suits, I was walking around the mall in my stockings, muttering to myself about how I "didn't give a damn if anyone cared.... I wouldn't care."

Basically, all this leads up to the point in time where I said "Screw it," and decided to leave.  Unfortunately, many kiosks are located in the mall, and as I walked by one of them, a young woman with some exotic-sounding sort of accent approached me.  I turned to her in annoyed resignation (I don't think it's even possible to walk past these people without saying ANYTHING), and she asked me, with sincerity in her voice (snort), how I got my hair to be the way it is.  I told her nothing, and she asked me if I ever straightened it.  I told her no, that it doesn't work.  This is very, very true.   My hair is blonde and semi-curly, and whenever I try to straighten it, it says "Hell no!" and looks like dried out, voluminous straw.

The woman then walked back to her stupid kiosk, and beckoned me over, saying we'd try it.  Apparently, "No, I can't," actually means, yes I have time for you to do "just one piece."  At least she had the courtesy to keep her expression exactly the same as I left, and wave at me (both of which were mildly creepy and frustrating, as they show the lack of interest these scary vendors have in anyone as a person).  The odd thing was, was that I knew she was a vendor when she approached my, and yet she sounded so truthful and normal when she asked my about my hair that I thought she might just be wondering.  Silly me, clearly.