Bodacious Boomer

While we were out yesterday Doug and I went out to look for some sheets and towels, some of ours being so threadbare you could almost read a newspaper through them. Once you’re married for awhile, you just don’t give a thought to sheets and towels. You use what you have. (Now don’t be envious of my exciting life.)

I have the attention span of a gnat while shopping. To me, shopping for linens and towels is like watching golf. So I started looking at other things. I took about 6 steps and stopped in my tracks.

It was like a religious painting where the clouds part and a bright light comes from above. I saw the bottom of a dress. It called to me.

Although the rings on the rack said  XXS and I knew I’d never get into it I just had to look at this dress. The bottom was a deep purple with black embellishment. It even had a petticoat underneath. It was gorgeous. As I was pulling it off the rack I realized that it had been stashed on the rack with all the Barbie clothes.

I looked at the size and let out a sigh. It was 2 sizes too small. It was like the tag slapped me in the face and said “Not for you!”

Still I decided I had to try it on even if I couldn’t zip it. So I did. It was snug when it was zipped, but not so snug as to be uncomfortable or unsightly. And after it’s final markdown it was only $50.00! And although I hadn’t been looking for a dress, I took this as a sign from God that this dress was meant for me,  so I  bought it.

I’d never had a cocktail dress before. I felt very grown up. I immediately had the urge to order a Cosmo or Whiskey Sour.

It was exciting. But now I had a problem. I had the dress, but no shoes. Well I have my Crocs, but even though I don’t live and die by Vogue, I still knew they just wouldn’t work.

Now I went in quest of appropriate footwear. Now please remember that for the last 10 years at least I’ve worn either Crocs flip flops or New Balance 99% of the time. (My lifestyle just didn’t demand anything fancier.) On the odd occasion when I just couldn’t, like my mom’s funeral, I just borrowed a pair of shoes from Amanda.

Doug and I walked into a enormous shoe store and was amazed by just how many butt-ugly shoes were for sale. I saw sandals that had a big strip of denim stitched to them, almost like a cuff. It looked like the rest of the pants had been devoured by boll weevils. What’s with that?

I may be fashion challenged, but please, even I know those look bad.

I grabbed a pair of the little footies and started my quest in earnest. OMG! Now I remembered why I haven’t worn heels in years. They hurt! I have a really high instep, which means that my weight is thrown more over my toes than most people. OW!

Doug kept bringing me shoes. I felt like Cinderella in reverse. I tried on at least 20 pairs, with no luck. I found a few that I really liked, but my instep was too high. Then the ones that worked with my instep hurt- a lot when I stood up. I tried some Anne Klein and Michael Kors. I even tried on some Italian designer whose name I can’t recall.

It’s a good thing those didn’t fit because they were $325.00 and Doug would’ve looked just like this:

I was at that store a long time- too long- and was getting more frustrated by the minute. I asked Doug if he thought I could go wearing a splint on each foot, saying that I’d had to have emergency foot surgery on both feet. At least I’d be comfortable.

But Mr. Blackwell said no. A cocktail dress and both feet in a splint just wouldn’t work, unless of course I was willing to do crutches too. That ended that conversation. I don’t do crutches very well, at all. I’m dangerous to be around.

I even looked at dressy sandals, with Swarovski crystals. But somehow they seemed wrong too. I headed over to the ballet type shoes. I’ve heard Julia Roberts wears flats. I tried some, but even they didn’t work.

By now I was getting really frustrated and hungry. I grabbed one last pair of shoes. Black patent leather with a silver buckle and a low heel. I knew better than to get my hopes up. I tried them on and they fit. It was a miracle! I mean it wasn’t like wearing my Crocs, nor was I going to look like I was on a runway in Milan; but they work for me.

Thank God no one else was going after the same pair. It would’ve been ugly I can assure you.

All I hope now is that the “What not to Wear” duo doesn’t assault me on the street in Manhattan.