We went clothes shopping today.
Bill and Alex.
Julia and me.
We’ve got a wedding coming up in the family.
Both kids are in the wedding (hee hee hee!!!!) and Bill will be playing guitar.
Fortunately for everyone, especially the photographers, who might not have brought wide enough lenses, I am not part of the ceremony at all. I’m hoping there’ll be a wide palm tree or something I can hide behind whenever there are cameras lurking.
Did you catch that?
It’s a destination wedding. A palm-tree destination. That’s right. And you know what palm trees are near, right?
That would be beaches.
And unfortunately for me, it won’t be cold enough to get away with wearing layers of
So, like I said, the boys went shopping in one direction, and the girls went shopping in another.
First we got Julia squared away – a new bathing suit, a couple of dresses, pretty, fancy sandals, belts (because Alex needed a belt, Julia wanted one, too)…I think that was it.
And then we had to shop for me.
I started out optimistic. I’d been there (Target) a week or so ago and found a few pretty tank tops I liked – one’s got a battenburg lace type panel on the front, the other has little slightly ruffly (but not TOO ruffly) fabric around the neck and sleeves.
But then I had to look for a dress.
And a bathing suit.
First the dress. Actually, this isn’t even all in my head – I just didn’t see a lot I liked. I’ll go out tomorrow – sans child – and poke around in other stores.
I tried on two, and Julia, bless her sweet little heart, said I looked beautiful.
I wish I could see me through her eyes.
She saw Mama in pretty dresses.
Well – she liked both, but I didn’t like the first one. Wrong length, wrong style, and the pattern…eh. No.
The second one looked better, style-wise, although it did accentuate all the horrible bulges I thought were gone, and that somehow shorts and capris can cover up successfully. I’ll wear something “smoothing” underneath and I should be safe for viewing.
And then, once I’d finished staring critically at my lower body, I gazed upward in the mirror and –
What the hell’s up with my head??
I mean…it looks too small for my body (oh, and by the way, I don’t know how this happened, but it probably had something to do with being with Julia, but anyway, the dress? It’s purple. Yes. Mrs. Barney. Go ahead – try and get that image out of your head ever.), and yet, at the same time, my forehead looks too big for my face.
Kind of like a billboard. I could probably make a fortune selling advertising on there.
Maybe I’ll have someone write some sort of congratulatory message to the bride and groom before I go to the wedding. That would be unique and special, now, wouldn’t it?
And another thing.
Well, no, it’s the same thing.
How come I can – occasionally – look at myself in the mirror and think, “okay, I won’t frighten any small children or elderly people today,” but when I was in the dressing room I frightened myself? What’s the deal there? Different mirrors? Maybe it was the purpleness of the dress. I’m far more comfortable in black. You know, because black is slimming and I can at least pretend….
It must be the lighting.
Or the insecurities.
Good thing I’m a guest, and not a participant.
I still need to buy some pretty, beach-resort-appropriate sandal/shoes.
And maybe I can find a matching bag.
Perhaps a darker shade of purple.
With eye holes cut out so I don’t trip and fall and cause any tectonic plates to shift.
That would be kind of distracting at a wedding.
Mrs. Barney Billboard-Head collapsing on the sand, causing the earth and sea to ripple in her wake.
I think I’d be wise to forgo the high heels….