Retail Therapy
Today I went shopping. Its rare that I do this. I find trying on clothes to be a dreadful experience. When you work around as many fine clothes and beautiful people as I have over the years dressing yourself becomes an ideal.
Everytime I look at myself in a dressing room mirror I have visions of how the garment / myself should look and how much better most things that are fashionable these days would look on someone else. I envision alterations and embelishments. By the time I've tried on 3 or 4 things I'm exhausted at the thought of the work that would have to be done for a store bought garment to be passable. As a result I normally sew (or have garments tailored) for myself.
Today was an exception.
As I mentionned yesterday, Dom has invited me to Hawaii. Looking through My wardrobe I had nothing that was appropriate. Keeping in mind my therapy assignment and my "What Not to Wear" sensibilities I headed off to the mall to pick up a few summer tops, capris, sandals a sarong and a swimsuit (*God I HATE swimwear!*).
I did quite well, but it took the entire day to accomplish my errand. In addition to my shopping list I did pick up a ridicculously large sunhat, some fushia nailpolish and a pair of sunglasses that would make Dame Edna very proud.
When I got home I got to work immediately painting my toenails. Such a simple task, but for a forty-something woman of limited flexibility this can be quite grueling. Perched on the edge of the couch with my feet on the coffeetable I was doing quite well until Hamish came home from physiotherapy. As he entered bellowing "Honey I'm home!" I was startled and slipped from my somewhat procarious position. Ham hears the commotion and comes running only to find me flat on my ass, feet in the air and nailpolish spilt on the carpet (which is white for the record *grrrr*).
My nails look fab, but the carpet may not be salvagable... the cleaner comes tommorow. Who ever knew that self discovery and expanding your horizons could be so costly?
Now for a Margarita to cure my migraine.
Everytime I look at myself in a dressing room mirror I have visions of how the garment / myself should look and how much better most things that are fashionable these days would look on someone else. I envision alterations and embelishments. By the time I've tried on 3 or 4 things I'm exhausted at the thought of the work that would have to be done for a store bought garment to be passable. As a result I normally sew (or have garments tailored) for myself.
Today was an exception.
As I mentionned yesterday, Dom has invited me to Hawaii. Looking through My wardrobe I had nothing that was appropriate. Keeping in mind my therapy assignment and my "What Not to Wear" sensibilities I headed off to the mall to pick up a few summer tops, capris, sandals a sarong and a swimsuit (*God I HATE swimwear!*).
I did quite well, but it took the entire day to accomplish my errand. In addition to my shopping list I did pick up a ridicculously large sunhat, some fushia nailpolish and a pair of sunglasses that would make Dame Edna very proud.
When I got home I got to work immediately painting my toenails. Such a simple task, but for a forty-something woman of limited flexibility this can be quite grueling. Perched on the edge of the couch with my feet on the coffeetable I was doing quite well until Hamish came home from physiotherapy. As he entered bellowing "Honey I'm home!" I was startled and slipped from my somewhat procarious position. Ham hears the commotion and comes running only to find me flat on my ass, feet in the air and nailpolish spilt on the carpet (which is white for the record *grrrr*).
My nails look fab, but the carpet may not be salvagable... the cleaner comes tommorow. Who ever knew that self discovery and expanding your horizons could be so costly?
Now for a Margarita to cure my migraine.