My Ruby Slippers

I'm not much of a clothes shopper.  Some women, I know, think of shopping as a treat - something to do to reward themselves or an activity to do with friends just for fun.  For me, it's kind of a get-out-there-and-get-it-done kind of thing.  Too much visual stimulation, too many choices or not enough choices, clothes don't fit like I wish they would, I'm kind of a tightwad, and really, I'd rather be reading a book.  If life came with a required uniform I'd wear it gladly, and never have to think about how to cover my body.  My attitude is kind of pragmatic and practical, but, my latest experience shopping suggested that I may have to explore the thought that my attitude is just a little eensy bit . . . incomplete.

The back story is this:  we're leaving on Thursday for a long-awaited trip to California for a niece's wedding.  A small affair, cocktail attire, nice hotel, you get the picture.  My parents, sisters, and their families will all be there, and this will be the first time I've seen them since we've moved to DC, almost exactly one year ago. During the year I've lost some weight and have been working hard at strength building and muscle tone, which means that my dressy clothes no longer fit.

This, I thought, would be a great chance to go to the  store in Takoma Park with the great clothes - the ones that all the middle-aged hippies wear that almost make me feel like we're in California.  You know the type of clothes - loose linen pants with flowing blouses, batik skirts in summery colors, silk t-shirts with beads and sparkles.  Safe kinds of clothing, really, for someone like me.  My wearing something from there would surprise nobody, wouldn't get me noticed, and I would be comfy.  Perfect.

The Red Glasses

Not so, says my hip and shop-wise daughter.  No, no, Mom, she says, we need to get you dolled up for a change. It is true that I tend to be a very conservative dresser.  Lots of solid colors, mostly dark, nothing too snug.  Boring, was the word she used.  This from the daughter who insisted she accompany me to the eye doctor to choose new frames, accusing me of always choosing old lady glasses. We came away with dark red frames.  Sometimes I like them, sometimes I feel like a flashing jelly bean.

But the more I think about it, the more I think that I actually do need a new Little Black Dress, one that fits, and since this is a cocktail attire wedding that might be just the thing. The bride is a very hip young woman herself and the crowd is likely to be tricked out.  LBD it is.

A sheath, I think, simple and graceful, versatile and practical.  And comfortable shoes.  I need shoes to go with, and they need to be flat and soft soled, because that's what I wear.  So, with a Macy's coupon on the iphone, the GPS unit programmed and the baby in a sling, we set out for the Bethesda Mall.

Once inside it takes a while to gather up a collection of dresses, none of which seem perfect on the hanger, but the black sheath I found in the suit section looks promising.  The others, all black, are pretty but look a little too glam for me.  Emily and little Kiyoko plant themselves in a leather chair outside the dressing room, I take the stack of 10 or 11 garments in with me, take off my glasses so I can't see myself undress in those dreadful mirrors in that catastrophic light, and take the first candidate off the hanger.  It is, I know, a size too small and will never work.  Except that it does.  It fits.  It fits and it looks good. This dress has a twirly kind of skirt that begs for dancing and I feel something in my shopping mood change.  When I step out of the dressing room, Em is as surprised as I am and says something about her hot mama.  Something inside of me shifts again.

Is this all vanity, I wonder?  I should go back to the hippie store.  No, no, I'm here, I've gathered these clothes, Em and Kiyoko are willing to be my witnesses, so I will continue.

The next dress fits also.  Holy Moly.  This one is form fitting with a deep V-neck.  Okay, I'll draw a line at the girls coming that far out to play, but I'm smiling at the form fitting part.  Maybe I didn't realize just how much all the exercise is paying off.

Dwight likes the dress

I don't like the next one - too short - but the next one is amazing.  A cowl neckline, cap sleeves, ruched at the side and figure hugging.  Here's the unexpected pleasure:  it's comfortable.  I wring my hands.  I try to talk myself out of it.  I want it.  It's so not me.  It's so beautiful.  People will notice - that's not a good thing.  I feel lovely in it.  My tummy sticks out a bit.  Spanx can fix that.  I pace some more.  I buy it.  In fact, I buy another one, too, in case Spanx doesn't fix the other.  I can always take one back.  I can take both of them back.  I can wear my jeans to the wedding.  I'll wear the dress and look like a million bucks.  Emily rolls her eyes.  Now, she says, we need shoes.

The shoe  department is huge.  How  does anyone make a decision in a place like that?  Help me, Em, do I wear hose? No. But my legs are so pasty.  Self tanner, Mom.  Okay, but I might need to wear hose.  Then make them sheer black and get closed-toed shoes.  Right.  Right.  Black, closed toe, flat, soft soled.  There are several that fit that bill on the display tables, but I'm seeing a disconnect between them and the dress.  The Dress.  Oh dear, did I really buy that dress?  How about bare legs and light beige shoes, Mom?  That would look fabulous, and something with some height.  What?  Height?  I never wear shoes with a heel more than and inch. Around and around I go through the displays, until Kiyoko falls asleep and Em gets a little bored and then I see them.  I see the shoes that I will never buy but that are so delicious I'm staring like a kid in a cookie shop.Open toe, 4 inch sling backs, candy apple red.  Oh gawd.  The display pair are my size.  I leave and look again at the sensible shoes, but those ruby slippers are calling me to try them on and almost against my will I find myself slipping them on.  Em just about yelps she's so pleased.  I feel dizzy.  The height?  The silliness? The gorgeous red?  A little boy shopping with his mother looks at the shoes on my feet, then looks at me.  I can't read his expression.  I don't know what I think.  I realize I love these shoes.  My trainer will scold me.  My friend Cindy the Shoe Queen will adore them.  I would have to learn how to walk in them  No hose allowed because of the open toe.   Will self tanner cover the bruise on my ankle?  I can't get these shoes. It's out of the question.

I buy them.  I'm frightened.  I'm happy.

Why is a 57 year old woman who has never dressed this way buying these things?  Isn't this a totally un-feminist thing to wear?  Caroline Casey reminds me, when I listen to her radio show, that humorless feminism is no fun.  This outfit is fun.  One more purchase - the Spanx - and I'm done.

It's now Wednesday.  The wedding is Sunday.  Maybe I'll pack a back-up outfit.  Maybe not.  But I wonder, when I click the heels of those ruby slippers, will home feel like the batik skirts, or am I going to shop like this again?