I got really excited this morning. Not exactly the pee-my-pants-because-euphoria-overtook-my-bladder excited, but jazzed enough to play So Into You by Atlanta Rhythm Section without caring who's listening and possibly assuming that I'm a fifty-six and charging head-first into midlife crisis mode. In actuality, I'm twenty-six and psyched about what I just discovered on my porch. Correction...I'm excited about what I removed from my porch, ripped open and waived at my dog while he looked at me like I'm the one who licks my undercarriage eight times a day (I don't, by the way). Sweet Mary Todd Lincoln's petticoat... Readers, I just got a purchase in the mail that I actually like...
Spotty, that's how I'd characterize my ability to choose clothing for myself. It's gotten better over the years, but my history is pock-marked with questionable outfits and less-than-flattering usages of modern day material. Cotton my be "the fabric of our lives", but when applied to my life, manages to transform itself into "the fabric that never matches and makes one of my lady lumps look higher than the other". Totally my fault, as I indulge, time and again, in the "slapdash" method of shopping.
i.e. Paige finds herself in a back shop in France (how she got there isn't important, but a story for another time). She moseys past the weird, French shop owner, who smells like patchouli and falafel, and makes her way to a rack of cute skirts. "Skirts", she exclaims. "I would love one, but alas, I am too lazy to try it on, as I have side streets to wonder down and street mimes to observe. Therefore, I shall grab one randomly from the rack and purchase it. Time is Euros."
Fast forward to that evening when she tries desperately to put on said "skirt". "Skirt" turns out to be a pair of Harem pants that don't fit. Paige declares them her "writing pants that will bring inspiration every time she wears them" and subsequently never wears them again.
As random as that story seems, it does an excellent job summing-up my outlook on buying clothes. Buy first, cry later. Shove at sales lady first, rock back and forth singing We Shall Overcome in the shower, later. But this time? This time I did everything right: Scanned sizing-chart thingy? Picked estimated size? Paid close attention to "Warning, this product may be smaller than it actually looks" flashing button? Check, check and check-a-lecka-ding-dong
So, after my pink, butterfly-printed pajama bottoms and yellow, pub crawl t-shirt had made the team effort to retrieve the little, brown box from the porch, its packing tape was ripped off and the wonderful contents exposed. I am now the proud owner of a rockin shirt and brand new necklace. Super happy with both of them. I'm just gonna run upstairs and try them on....
Until Next Time Readers!