Dressing Funny

Formerly a highly anticipated social event, it is now a dreaded, lonely excursion away from all things good and right. It used to provide a fulfilling rush , but now it sends me spiraling into foot-dragging depression. What once qualified as joy of joys is now the hugest chore of all time. Friends, I'm talking shopping for clothes.

Oh, the horror, right? But, don't go calling the feds on me just yet; I'm still a good citizen who contributes regularly to our booming economy. Truly, I quite like all sorts of shopping...in antique stores and farmer's markets, in swap meets and used bookstores. Oh, and at Target (note: love of Target is not by choice, it's gender related, most of the time I can't understand it myself).

Admittedly -- even back in the brief period when I fostered love for malls -- when it comes to clothes shopping, I'm not very clever. In fact, I make some incredibly questionable decisions. Wonder if this is connected to a distaste for trying things on before purchase and a habit of inexplicable 50% off impulse buys? It's also quite plausible to blame the abnormal proportions of my body. Tragically, I simply was not built for this world: too big and tall in some directions, too short and skinny others. These technical problems -- combined with the annoying crowds of other people and guilt over purchase of probable sweatshop manufactured items -- have only exacerbated the clothes shopping aversion in my old age.

So, what, you say? Well, it's just that, you know, I sort of thought I would be cooler than that. I never thought I'd be the lady with a closet full of nothing to wear, who then turns around to bitch about it in her blog. This is yet another one of those sobering, life lessons in I'm only human, I'm merely a product of my society, I'm not an ethereal being of perfection sent here to rescue humanity from itself.

...or am I? The superhero suit hanging in the closet just can't be for nothing.