it's so much better than actually shoppng with someone. santa, thank you for technology.
i now take you where no one has gone before: into the dressing room. with me.
[i tried on every single dress at benetton. no kidding. all i wanted was something nice, simple and summery. i found myself in disco, wedding and lounge singer territory. here are the out-takes].
i fall into the trap of this style of dress for most occasions. and then i always get to this no-sweat-pants-allowed thing, look around, and think "well. here i am again. wearing this."
and so i tried it again in a purple knit version built for a woman with baywatch boobs.
this one confused me. i like it. it's very cute, and it meets my needs as being something that looks unlike anything i've ever worn before. it does not, however, meet my needs of later being paired with cowboy boots so i can roll all urban outfitter. i could give those sleeves a swift yank and be za-za-za-ing all over town.
then i tried this shirt, which doesn't photograph well, but may be the greatest shirt i've ever seen. i could wear it with a skirt. still looking like myself, casual, but not wearing something i'd turn around and sleep in later.
so i went with the shirt. then, as i was leaving the store, i got a response to the "mrs. roper's fancy night at the regal beagle" dress. fannie insisted that if i wore that thing in front of ma pista, she would never say a word about anything in my wardrobe ever again -- an offer i couldn't refuse. i mean, it freakin' looks like an easter basket and ponies.
so i spun around and got the dress, too. [i'd wear the shirt anyway]. but now i'm taking the dress back because really. when am i going to za-za-anything?
on wednesday night i subjected chuck to a version of this disaster. i kept it quick and low maintenance, mostly gliding through dress areas, touching things, frowning and quickly moving on. until i found this:
... which i'd wear if i was a whore.
which i'd buy if i was gay. then i'd make my girlfriend carry it around for me.