Shopping Insanity, and Why I Am Not Sexy
Well, on Saturday I decided to celebrate my blogger birthday by going shopping with Boof and Funky. Nothing unusual about that, you may think, and you'd be correct; shopping is what we do best. We attack the mall with a ferocity that appalls onlooking teenagers (they may be younger and thinner, but we're older and we've got alot more money) emerging only when our cards are maxed out and we cannot physically carry any more bags to the car. If you ever come with us, wear sturdy shoes and bring a sturdier disposition.
But this time was slightly different...I completely abandoned my usual caution when it comes to clothes and ended up purchasing an outfit which I just know I'll never end up wearing. It was of course, all Boof and Funky's faults. It started when we went to Pulp shoes...a very trendy shoe store. I only ever look at shoes in a hypothetical way. I buy a pair of Doc Marten's mary janes, wear them most days till they wear out (which usually takes several years) the replace them. I've also got a pair of sandals and a pair of boots. That seems quite sufficient to me. Especially since I've got very wide feet and cannot walk in even the slightest heel.
So whilst the guys were getting shoes in Pulp, I was wandering around when a pair of black, velvet, jewell-encrusted wedges caught my eye. Shoes I'd never wear, but I thought, "These would look lovely...on someone else!" Unfortunately, Funky saw me holding them up for a closer look, and bounded over goading me into trying them on. Which I did. Next thing you know - I don't know how - I'm at the cash register explaining that the size seven is fine, and reaching for my wallet. Like I said, I don't know how it happened - the shoes are totally impractical, will probably last about one wear before they look old, and as I use public transport I won't ever be able to leave the house whilst I've got them on. And in any case, they're just too dressy, young and fashionable for me. But I own them now.
This should have been enough shopping hysteria for one afternoon.
But whatever you blame - the guy's overeagerness to get me out of my constant long skirts, my own disorientation at the trendy shops, the simple fact that I needed a cigarette - worse was to come.
We headed to Ice, which is one of those women's clothing stores lit like a slightly brighter nightclub, with the music, outfits and customers to match. It is, in short, the kind of store which I usually avoid on pain of death. But I did point out to Boof and Funky a dress which I'd seen in the window, purely hypothetical as well - I could never wear it. But upon discovering that everything instore was 50% off that day, the guys insisted I try it on as well.
You ought to see it. It's a black satin halterneck, with a gorgeously swishy short skirt, and so low cut around the clevage it has wires in place to stop one's bosoms from falling out. It is, in short, a very sexy dress, and I'm not a sexy person; something of a beauty in my youth, perhaps (though those days are long gone), but never in a sexy way. There's something you need to be sexy that I never had; a certain poise and confidence. I've always been too damn clumsy to be sexy. It's just as well I'm not a bondage mistress; I'd no doubt drop the whip, trip over it, and knock myself out when I hit the ground, leaving my partner bound and gagged and unable to help. The missionary position gets alot of bad press, but I like it; it's the position where I am least likely to cause myself serious injury.
Well, I emerged from the changeroom to the guy's cries of, "Wow...that's stunning" and I replied, "Well it could be, but not on me." The shop assistant asked me what I thought and I said mournfully, "I look like mutton dressed as lamb!" but she was skinny and blonde and 18 and clearly had no idea what I was talking about. However, there's one thing I like even more than dressing like Stevie Nicks, and that's a bargain. What with all the discounts that it had, the dress cost $25. So I bought it.
So now I have a brand new sexy outfit, I'm ready to go anywhere this summer. The problem is, I never go anywhere. Boof and Funky have promised that we'll go somewhere special soon, so I have a chance to wear the outfit, but I'll believe that when it happens; and I can see the dress and shoes sitting in their bag and box at the back of my wardrobe untouched for the next umpteem years, until eventaully they come into style again, and I dig them out to give to one of my sister's daughters (at least they'll think that their Aunt Nicola is so much cooler than their mother...)