It's a Jungle Out There

What is it about a sidewalk sale that turns otherwise decent, law-abiding women into hormonal wilderbeasts?

After spending all of Saturday afternoon diligently working on a freelance editing project at my local coffee shop, I decided to reward myself with a quick jaunt to the nearby Anthropologie clothing store.

A sidewalk sale was in progress, and womenfolk were circling the racks like tigers staking out their turf.

I approached an as yet unclaimed rack full of blouses and, as is customary among the genus thirtysomethingus suburbanus femalus, began combing through it starting at the far left end.

I was about halfway down the rack when a broad of the genus bad makeup, leathery skin, frickin' rude as-all get outus cut in front of me and began examining the garment directly to my right.

As in, the item I was about to inspect on the rack that I had staked out.

This was by no means a friendly, "I'm just going to shop here at an appropriate distance alongside of you" overture, but rather a balls-out violation of personal shopping space.

My fur began to bristle, and I may or may not have bared a solitary fang.

In a cheerful growl I said, "Oooooookaaaay, then. I guess I'll just switch places with you," and proceeded to swoop around to her right.

She released her talons and wasted no time in one-upping me with another cold-blooded queue jump, landing again directly to my right, where she began eyeing a little summer hoodie that was next in line for my nimble fingers to examine.

Friends, I had no intention of trying on a navy blue maternity type hoodie with oversized orange and yellow buttons, but I grabbed that garment off the rack faster than you could say, "b1tch."

I quickly eyeballed the label on my trophy, only to find that it was two sizes too big, but damned if I was going to put it back for my enemy to lay paws on.

There was only one more like it left on the rack (in what I suspected was the size I actually needed), and my arch nemesis snatched it up like a winning lottery ticket dancing on the wind.

We both stood there in the blazing afternoon sun, examining our loot, each of us knowing that we were holding a garment in the other's size, but neither one willing to make the concession to put it back on the rack.

What is a self-respecting shopper to do?

I walked around inside the store for a few minutes before hiding that hoodie on a full price rack, of course.

A few minutes later, I found the one in the size I needed discarded among a pile of jeans.

Next time, I think I'll just mark my territory with a circle of pee.