Yesterday I shared my tale of shopping angst. I’ve been in search of a cocktail or after 5 dress for an upcoming soirée, and so far I have found nothing. The dresses that fit my 5’8″, size 12, slightly past middle-aged frame, are few and far between. And ugly. I might be nearing the age of 62, but I refuse to dress like my obituary is going into tomorrow’s newspaper.
At one point yesterday I decided to think outside the box in my pursuit of the elusive not-so-matronly dress, so I went to a local store in Tallahassee that always has a mix of new and vintage clothing displayed in their windows. It’s a nice shop, with friendly staff, and a variety of casual and dressier items in stock.
After walking around the store with me and asking about my style and color preferences one of the sales ladies opened a dressing room and began bringing different pieces for me to try on. I was seriously stoked to see just what she might find!
The first outfit was a light green floral jumpsuit. It didn’t scream “COCKTAILS” at me, but I was keeping an open mind. This isn’t it, but it was similar:
On me, the pants ended around mid-calf and the waist hit about two inches north of where my actual waist resides. And the floral pattern just made me look like I needed a good weeding.
Next she brought me another jumpsuit. I wish with all my heart that I’d had the presence of mind to take a photo of me wearing it. First off, it was orange. Not a pretty orange, but a washed out, 70’s shag carpet orange. In fact, I’d swear Studly and I lived in a rental that had the exact same color carpet during our poverty period.
The jumpsuit was crafted from chenille, so I looked like a pumpkin, freshly picked. And again, the waist was too high and the legs too short. Stifling a bout of giggles, I politely asked the sales lady to refrain from bringing any more jumpsuits to the dressing room.
So she brought me an adorable dress. It was simple and sweet on the hanger, but on me? Fugedaboutit. My bosom could not be contained by this little slip of a dress. Indeed, parts of me better left hidden made mad attempts to escape if I even dared to breathe in the gown. It was a Jekyll and Hyde affair, to be sure. All meek and mild on display, while determined to ruin my reputation whilst being worn. Be very glad that I didn’t take photos of this dress. That’s not it below, but you get the picture, right!
My little experiment in thinking outside the box was unproductive; however, I left the store with a badly damaged self-image, and that’s what really counts.
Peace, people.
LOL another hilarious post! Great way to start my day!
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I wish someone had been along to witness my humiliation. I desperately needed someone to giggle with.
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Good luck
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I need divine intervention at this point.
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Do you have a Nordstrom? My friends tell me they have an awesome personal shopping type of thing.
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We don’t have a Nordstrom store here. I think Jacksonville has one. It might be worth a trip to see what they’ve got.
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Give the personal shopping thing a call. From what my friends says, she goes in and they have like 10 things ready for her to try based on her preferences.
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Oh! Great idea! Thank you.
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😀
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May you have your divine intervention
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From your lips to God’s ears. 😁
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I had to giggle at your line, ” the floral pattern just made me look like I needed a good weeding”. Too funny! Your story reminds me of looking for a dress for my 30th high school reunion (which was 16 years ago!) and nothing looked good on my frame after having two babies 16 months apart well into my 30’s. I did not find a dress then but later for my graduation with my doctorate I found a lovely little black number with spandex in all the right places (mostly my belly) and a scoop neck so my boobs wouldn’t burst out. I got to wear that again to my daughter’s recent masters graduation and felt lovely. Get a good one and it will take you through many soirees. I really enjoyed – and related to – this story, Leslie.
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Your story has given me hope. I’ll sally forth again.
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I for one would kill for that lounger chair and the vintage stereo receiver behind it. – Marty
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They are fun, aren’t they?
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