Long story short, they all sucked. I was looking for a fabulous cocktail dress, possibly from decades past. The first store resold disposable fashion. (So much zebra print.) The second had some fabulous coats, and many many beaded things- but I'm thirty years too young to shop there. The third store had been replaced with a bicycle shop, and the fourth....
Well, it sold secondhand lingerie. And bondage gear. And sex toys. And Zoot suits.
No dresses.
So we went to the mall and found a very nice dress. It's pale lavender. The saleslady cooed when I said it was for my wedding. I also tried on pretty much everything in the prom department. And I bought a suit, so I can fight with my mother about wearing jeans to interviews. Also, I am so epically bad at navigating Sac that I think Ryan hates me now.
I am convinced that clothes shopping is a trap meant to subdue and distract women from the real meat of things. My dream is to have C's wardrobe: endless stacks of t-shirts and underwear and jeans, with four neatly stored outfits for special occasions. I hope lavender dress 1a can become my second special occasion outfit. The suit is #3.
The wet woolly weather eventually trapped me in a little town along the I-5 corridor, where I spent the night in a cheap hotel watching TV and sweating in my skivvies. I'm not trying to kickstart a porn movie- apparently everywhere I go now has the heater modulator broken- set on 'high'. (This is also true in my car.)
2 comments:
Ryan doesn't hate you. Turns out he was coming down with whatever I had that day. We've been calling it "the menegitis" since its a non-fluey sort of cold. The rain and driving reminded me of our graduation.
Ah, the lack of a blinding hangover disguised the similarity for me. Homemade wine...
Post a Comment