Saturday I decided to buy a new pair of shoes. While this is a daily, and much anticipated, event for most women, for me it escalated into a full panic attack. I became so depressed I called a few friends.
“I need a shrink. Do you have one?”
My pen and paper was ready to jot down a number.
“Get real! I don’t have a shrink.”
Three calls later I had the same reply from my friends. No one was in therapy. I was on my own.
I need new shoes, and a business casual outfit, to meet an agent for the book idea I am pitching this weekend.
“Be relaxed, but professional in your attire.” The e-mail with directions for the conference was clear that I could not wear my jeans and Mary Janes.
Casual has been my fashion statement for four years. I tossed all my working clothes when I retired. As an antique dealer I didn’t need to up my game, I needed to spend money on my inventory. My idea of a social outing included jeans and a frozen Margarita. I rarely date, and my wardrobe reflected such. I was hung out to dry, unless I jumped in quickly to wet my feet with style.
The pressure overwhelmed me.
I’d gained twenty pounds in the year I had my shop.
Nothing looked good on me, not even my basic jeans and T’s.
My canvas Mary Jane’s were raveling. If I got close, I could smell feet.
I entered Marshals filled with hope. A bargain and a new pair of shoes. What could be better?
I bypassed the shoe area twice.
I thought it was the costume department.
All the shoes looked like alien beings would wear them. Spiked heels, straps up to heaven knows where, platforms taller than the small stool I stand on the change a light bulb.
When had shoes changed so much?
I don’t live in the dark ages. I watch Entertainment Tonight, Dancing With The Stars, and read ‘More’ magazine (yes, for women over forty). I thought these fashions, these shoes that seemed fantasy, not reality, were worn only by celebrities. Now I know everyone is buying them. They are a fashion statement.
My statement is dead.
To my total emotional demise, I also realized I wear mom jeans.
Not only am I dated, this explains why I can’t get a date.
I have to revamp myself in less than a week.
Witty and smart did well for me when I was younger and hot. But now that I am lukewarm, I need to up my fashion game.
I did what any fashion-deprived gal, who needed an outfit quickly, but got ill at the mall, would do. I hit Ebay. I found my Mary Janes. Black leather. Gently used. But guaranteed to look like new.
I found a new black T-shirt and a topper.
I do own a short aqua and black skirt that I wore once on the last date I had.
It has an elastic waist. I am safe.
My Pay Pal payment included expedited shipping fees.
“Bring it on!”
I am ready for Saturday. My purchases are scheduled to arrive tomorrow. My pitch should be flawless.
There is just one final problem with my outfit.
Dear God, please let me out the front door without getting covered in fur.
But then, that’s the title of my new book, “Covered In Fur: My Life With Dogs”.
Perhaps a bit of hair of the dog will be just the fashion statement I need to close this deal.
CEO of Life