Over 19, but under dead section?

I can't remember when I lost all sense of style. In fact, as I was thinking of writing this post I am not really sure that I ever had any sense of style. See, when you are raised largely on hand-me-downs and what's on sale it is difficult to acquire taste in clothes. So, I think that is where I started and I somehow ended up here.


So, yesterday my husband watched three of our kids (baby was asleep and doesn't count) so that I could go quickly and buy a red shirt that I could pair with a pair of black pants (already in my closet since the 90's but still tasteful - I think) and wear to church. I recently turned on daytime TV - note to self - don't do this - and heard that "black" washes you out if you are over 40 (I'm not saying I am over 40). What? I always thought black was safe and simple. This was ground-breaking (and terribly upsetting to me) news. More than half the clothes in my closet are black, and I would rather be water boarded than shop, so this will require some time. The man on TV recommended starting with red.


Okay, back to the red shirt/blouse/thing. Simple task, right? Easy to do in the span of time that baby is asleep? Right now I think it would have been less time consuming and less painful to stick sharp needles into every area of my naked body......oh, wait..........isn't there a name for that?


Holy cow. Let me just give you a low down of the trip and maybe you will join me in a protest against clothes shopping and selling in any way shape or form. Enter me into a nice (not Kohls, but not Nordstroms) department store where the salespeople are helpful but not pushy. First rack I see I think, "I would wear that and it costs less than a million dollars. Okay, let me try that." Now, my body is it's own entity. I used to be in charge of it, but now it pretty much runs itself. So, I'm thinking okay I know 10 is too big, there are no fours, so I pull a six off the rack thinking it should be safe. I hold it up and there are still two feet hanging off my shoes. And now I have wasted five minutes and now the shirt (which isn't red) doesn't look too great either.


On to the next rack. And so it goes for about another 10 minutes. So, I decide to meander toward juniors (big mistake) since even the fives (which are slim pickings) are swimmingly huge. Now, don't get the picture (if you don't know me) that I am slim. I am not. Let me just say that as a real junior I was slim and not shapely (well, if 'board' is a shape -then, yes, the shape of a board). Having four kids made my body, well, flat. Anything that should protrude doesn't. And my belly (which I don't think is supposed to protrude) does. And, I know I am being explicit here. Bare with me. He-he.


I find a couple of junior red sweater/shirts. Yay. I try them on. Wow. One of them looks, well, Startrek-like and the other is so skin tight and see-through that I am wondering how it could feel like a sweater??? Okay. Back to the rack (only have wasted about 30 minutes now). I pull off a cute gray sweater dress. The hell with the red shirt. I try it on. Hot dog. It fits and looks fairly cute. But, it's close to black. Oh, well. And, what kind of shoes do I wear with this thing? And, it's kind of cold for short sleeve. And, it's not on sale. Oh, well. I am buying this thing. So, I put it over my arm very decidedly and move on to shoes.


Okay. I really like black boots this season and there are a pair on sale for $49!!! They are cute. And I think they will look good with this dress. No pairs in my size, though. (I am now up to 55 minutes and counting). So, I meander around the shoes. Nothing looks good. I look back down at the dress and go back to juniors and put it back. I came in for a red shirt/blouse/thing and somehow got distracted and went down a bad path. So, I start over.


Suddenly there are no red shirts and I am exhausted. I give it one more go just so I can say I did. A sweet saleswoman asks me if there is anything she can help me with. I briefly think of saying, "Yes. Do you have anything that will not make me look washed out, give me boobs, suck in my stomach, push my butt back out, make me taller, and be red and Christmassy?" But, I know I am leaving empty handed, so I just say, "No, thank you." As I am breezing out the door (now thinking how I can wear the black outfit one more Christmas and shop for red next year) I see a red shirt that doesn't look half bad. I go up for a closer look and see that it's got a weird collar and is made out of some strange feeling fabric. Uh, no. Keep going. Out the door.

I may try again tomorrow. Or I may not. And this, my friend, is why I've been wearing the same clothes since 1989. ;o)