shopping . . .

I think the reason I adore blue jeans and T's is because A) they are so stinkin' comfortable and B) they cover a myriad of bodily sins. Slap on a pair of flops and I am ready to rock . . especially now that my wardrobe no longer requires business suits and heels.

However, occasionally, I need to pretend I am a grown up and dress appropriately. The other day, I was not so subtlety reminded of this and headed out to start building a wardrobe of more "elegant casual attire", whatever that means, for a cruise we will be taking next June.

A friend recommended Chico's and since there is one just two short miles from the house, I found myself wandering aimlessly in circles trying to decipher their sizing. What ever happened to the normal 6 -8-10-12 or even S - M - L? There I was left to my own devices . . . was I a " O" -(decidedly not in any language) 1, 1.5 etc. Good for the ego, bad for trying on.

Finally, "DoraLynn" came to my rescue . . . or so I thought. She gave me a quick eyeball and started grabbing stuff off racks telling me I needed more color and tons of accessories. I could feel my brain shutting down. Thrown in a dressing room with florescent lighting and yards of synthetic fabric, I was starting to fade, but dutifully tried on the goods. Not in this life time are my hips and bottom ever going to look good in knitted fabric. It was like a nightmarish advertisement for Breakstone's. As "DoraLynn" poked her nose in to see how I was doing, her mouth puckered and out spewed a single word: Spanks. There is something to that phrase - ignorance is bliss -. They may very well be on Oprah's number one list but once "DorLynn" lifted the fabric of her slacks to reveal her spanks, I was out of there like greased lightening. The last time I wore a girdle or anything vaguely resembling one was in 1964. They disappeared even before my bras.

I did leave clutching two comfy T's and having mail ordered a cute linen dress but I ran immediately home to inhale the slightly bleachy, all cotton smell of my freshly washed jeans . . . plopped myself down to a bowl of fresh raspberries and tried to push the entire fiasco into some far off recess of my mind. The thought of having to repeat this trek eleven more times in as many months is just repelling. ACK!