Horrid Henry stood in his bedroom up to his knees in clothes. The long sleeve striped T-shirt came to his elbow. His pants stopped halfway down his legs. Henry sucked in his tummy as hard as he could. Still the zipper wouldn’t zip.
“Nothing fits!” he screamed, yanking off the shirt and hurling it across the room. “And my shoes hurt.”
“All right, Henry, calm down,” said Mom. “You’ve grown. We’ll go out this afternoon and get you some new clothes and shoes.”
“NOOOOOOO!” shrieked Henry. “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Horrid Henry hated shopping.
Correction: Horrid Henry loved shopping. He loved shopping for gigantic TVs, computer games, comics, toys, and candy. Yet for some reason Horrid Henry’s parents never wanted to go shopping for good stuff. Oh no. They shopped for vacuum bags. Toothpaste. Spinach. Socks. Why oh why did he have such horrible parents? When he was grown up he’d never set foot in a supermarket. He’d only shop for TVs, computer games, and chocolate.
But shopping for clothes was even worse than heaving his heavy bones around the Happy Shopper Supermarket. Nothing was more boring than being dragged around miles and miles and miles of shops, filled with disgusting clothes only a mutant would ever want to wear, and then standing in a little room while Mom made you try on icky scratchy things you wouldn’t be seen dead in if they were the last pair of pants on earth. It was horrible enough getting dressed once a day without doing it fifty times. Just thinking about trying on shirt after shirt after shirt made Horrid Henry want to scream.
“I’m not going shopping!” he howled, kicking the pile of clothes as viciously as he could. “And you can’t make me.”
“What’s all this yelling?” demanded Dad.
“Henry needs new pants,” said Mom grimly.
Dad went pale.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Mom. “Take a look at him.”
Dad looked at Henry. Henry scowled.
“They’re a little small, but not that bad,” said Dad.
“I can’t breathe in these pants!” shrieked Henry.
“That’s why we’re going shopping,” said Mom. “And I’ll take him.” Last time Dad had taken Henry shopping for socks and came back instead with three Hairy Hellhound CDs and a jumbo pack of Day-Glo slime.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Dad had said when Mom told him off.
“But why do I have to go?” said Henry. “I don’t want to waste my precious time shopping.”
“What about my precious time?” said Mom.
Henry scowled. Parents didn’t have precious time. They were there to serve their children. New pants should just magically appear, like clean clothes and packed lunches.
Mom’s face brightened. “Wait, I have an idea,” she beamed. She rushed out and came back with a large plastic bag. “Here,” she said, pulling out a pair of bright red pants, “try these on.”
Henry looked at them suspiciously.
“Where are they from?”
“Aunt Ruby dropped off some of Steve’s old clothes a few weeks ago. I’m sure we’ll find something that fits you.”
Horrid Henry stared at Mom. Had she gone gaga? Was she actually suggesting that he should wear his horrible cousin’s moldy old shirts and smelly pants? Just imagine, putting his arms into the same stinky sleeves that Stuck-up Steve had slimed? Uggh!
“NO WAY!” screamed Henry, shuddering. “I’m not wearing Steve’s smelly old clothes. I’d catch rabies.”
“They’re practically brand new,” said Mom.
“I don’t care,” said Henry.
“But Henry,” said Perfect Peter. “I always wear your hand-me-downs.”
“So?” snarled Henry.
“I don’t mind wearing hand-me-downs,” said Perfect Peter. “It saves so much money. You shouldn’t be so selfish, Henry.”
“Quite right, Peter,” said Mom, smiling. “At least one of my sons thinks about others.”
Horrid Henry pounced. He was a vampire sampling his supper.
“AAIIIEEEEEE!” squealed Peter.
“Stop that, Henry!” screamed Mom.
“Leave your brother alone!” screamed Dad.
Horrid Henry glared at Peter.
“Peter is a worm, Peter is a toad,” jeered Henry.
“Mom!” wailed Peter. “Henry said I was a worm. And a toad.”
“Don’t be horrid, Henry,” said Dad. “Or no TV for a week. You have three choices. Wear Steve’s old clothes. Wear your old clothes. Go shopping for new ones today.”
“Do we have to go today?” moaned Henry.
“Fine,” said Mom. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go tomorrow,” wailed Henry. “My weekend will be ruined.”
Mom glared at Henry.
“Then we’ll go right now this minute.”
“NO!” screamed Horrid Henry.
“YES!” screamed Mom.
***
Several hours later, Mom and Henry walked into Mellow Mall. Mom already looked like she’d been crossing the Sahara desert without water for days. Serves her right for bringing me here, thought Horrid Henry, scowling, as he scuffed his feet.
“Can’t we go to Shop ’n’ Drop?” whined Henry. “Graham says they’ve got a win your weight in chocolate competition.”
“No,” said Mom, dragging Henry into Zippy’s Department Store. “We’re here to get you some new pants and shoes. Now hurry up, we don’t have all day.”
Horrid Henry looked around. Wow! There was lots of great stuff on display.
“I want the Hip-Hop Robots,” said Henry.
“No,” said Mom.
“I want the new Waterblaster!” screeched Henry.
“No,” said Mom.
“I want a Creepy Crawly lunch box!”
“NO!” said Mom, pulling him into the boys’ clothing department.
What, thought Horrid Henry grimly, is the point of going shopping if you never buy anything?
“I want Root-a-Toot sneakers with flashing red lights,” said Henry. He could see himself now, strolling into class, a bugle blasting and red light flashing every time his feet hit the floor. Cool! He’d love to see Miss Battle-Axe’s face when he exploded into class wearing them.
“No,” said Mom, shuddering.
“Oh please,” said Henry.
“NO!” said Mom, “We’re here to buy pants and sensible school shoes.”
“But I want Root-a-Toot sneakers!” screamed Horrid Henry. “Why can’t we buy what I want to buy? You’re the meanest mother in the world and I hate you!”
“Don’t be horrid, Henry. Go and try these on,” said Mom, grabbing a selection of hideous pants and revolting T-shirts. “I’ll keep looking.”
Horrid Henry sighed loudly and slumped toward the dressing room. No one in the world suffered as much as he did. Maybe he could hide between the clothes racks and never come out.
Then something wonderful in the toy department next door caught his eye.
Whooa! A whole row of the new megalotronic animobotic robots with 213 programmable actions. Horrid Henry dumped the clothes and ran over to have a look. Oooh, the new Intergalactic Samurai Gorillas that launched real stinkbombs! And the latest Waterblasters! And deluxe Dungeon Drink kits with a celebrity chef recipe book! To say nothing of the Mega-Whirl Goo Shooter that sprayed fluorescent goo for fifty yards in every direction. Wow!
Mom staggered into the dressing room with more clothes. “Henry?” said Mom.
No reply.
“HENRY!” said Mom.
Still no reply.
Mom yanked open a dressing room door.
“Hen—”
“Excuse me!” yelped a bald man, standing in his underpants.
“Sorry,” said Mom, blushing bright pink. She dashed out of the changing room and scanned the shop floor.
Henry was gone.
Mom searched up the aisles.
No Henry.
Mom searched down the aisles.
Still no Henry.
Then Mom saw a tuft of hair sticking up behind the neon sign for Ballistic Bazooka Boomerangs. She marched over and hauled Henry away.
“I was just looking,” protested Henry.
Henry tried on one pair of pants after another.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” said Henry, kicking off the final pair. “I hate all of them.”
“All right,” said Mom, grimly. “We’ll look somewhere else.”
Mom and Henry went to Top Trousers. They went to Cool Clothes. They went to Stomp in the Swamp. Nothing had been right.
“Too tight,” moaned Henry.
“Too itchy!”
“Too big!”
“Too small!”
“Too ugly!”
“Too red!”
“Too uncomfortable!”
“We’re going to Tip-Top Togs,” said Mom wearily. “The first thing that fits, we’re buying.”
Mom staggered into the children’s department and grabbed a pair of pink and green plaid pants in Henry’s size.
“Try these on,” she ordered. “If they fit we’re buying them.”
Horrid Henry gazed in horror at the horrendous pants.
“Those are girls’ pants!” he screamed.
“They are not,” said Mom.
“Are too!” shrieked Henry.
“I’m sick and tired of your excuses, Henry,” said Mom. “Put them on or no allowance for a year. I mean it.”
Horrid Henry put on the pink and green plaid pants, puffing out his stomach as much as possible. Not even Mom would make him buy pants that were too tight.
Oh no. The horrible pants had an elastic waist. They would fit a mouse as easily as an elephant.
“And lots of room to grow,” said Mom brightly. “You can wear them for years. Perfect.”
“NOOOOOO!” howled Henry. He flung himself on the floor kicking and screaming. “NOOOO! THEY’RE GIRLS’ PANTS!!!”
“We’re buying them,” said Mom. She gathered up the plaid pants and stomped over to the register. She tried not to think about starting all over again trying to find a pair of shoes that Henry would wear.
A little girl in pigtails walked out of the dressing room, twirling in pink and green plaid pants.
“I love them, Mommy!” she shrieked. “Let’s get three pairs.”
Horrid Henry stopped howling.
He looked at Mom.
Mom looked at Henry.
Then they both looked at the pink and green plaid pants Mom was carrying.
ROOT-A-TOOT!
ROOT-A-TOOT!
ROOT-A-TOOT!
TOOT! TOOT!
An earsplitting bugle blast shook the house. Flashing red lights bounced off the walls.
“What’s that noise?” said Dad, covering his ears.
“What noise?” said Mom, pretending to read.
ROOT-A-TOOT!
ROOT-A-TOOT!
ROOT-A-TOOT!
TOOT! TOOT!
Dad stared at Mom.
“You didn’t,” said Dad. “Not—Root-a-Toot sneakers?”
Mom hid her face in her hands.
“I don’t know what came over me,” said Mom.
