I schlepped over to Old Navy in order to complete my summer wardrobe. Because I hate going out without pants on.

After scouring the malls and the local Winners (which I refer to as Whiners on bad days), I decided to finally see what all the fuss was about with this U.S. franchise. Then the husband wanted to come along...except he was headed for the Home Depot right next door. All of his shorts and pants fit for some reason. I still love him anyway. ;)

"I wonder why they called it Old Navy?" he asked as we eased our way into the crammed parking lot. "Why not Old Army or Old Marine?"

"Too bad they didn't go with Old Sailor," I commented before we parted ways. He to tooltime heaven; me, to the quest for double-digit sizes in a single-digit world.

I found the perfect pair of shorts, in a size 8. There was a girl refolding shirts at a table nearby. I approached her cautiously, not wanting to disturb her creaseless karma.

I held the garment out for her to see, "Excuse me, do you have any of these in a 14?"

She eyed the shorts, then me. "If it's not there, it's not there," she replied.

Overwhelmed by her helpful, endearing attitude, I hung my head in shame and returned the garment to its rightful place on the rack. Suddenly power tools and lighting fixtures seemed much more appealing than a pair of Bermuda shorts.

But first, I went over to another display and messed up a pile of t-shirts. That'll show her, for sure.