Change of Seasons

(Actual scene of today's actual shopping. I actually entered and exited from the actual door on the left. Actually.)

Being a non-shopper, I try to accomplish my personal clothing shopping into two trips a year, spring and fall – or as I think of them, Capri pants season, and non-Capri pants season. I know Capris are almost never the height of fasion, but I have awesome tattoos on my ankle and calf, and that’s the only time I can show them off.

This year’s non-Capri pants season arrived suddenly, if not entirely unexpectedly. It was in the low 80s and humid as an equatorial rain forest when I went to our seminar on Tuesday morning. By the time I went to work on Wednesday, it was 47 degrees. Highs all this week won’t be more than a degree or so over 70.

I felt kind of stupid wearing Capri pants to work yesterday, but I hadn’t yet dug all my fall clothes from the compost pile at the bottom of my closet. Plus, I knew I’d never find two matching socks, and I’d have to wear “normal” shoes (with socks) instead of the summer slip-ons I’ve worn since May. (Side note, how cool is it that I can leave my shoes off all day, all summer? I only have to put them on when I go upstairs to the “working” area of the clinic… damn OSHA.)

Which leads us to today. My day off. And shopping. Which I hate. I don’t dread it quite as much as I did when I was a size 22, thankfully, but going to a size 2 (and then a 4, and now a 6) didn’t help my ability to coordinate anything resembling an outfit. I was apparently born without that particular gene, and it is not even remotely size-dependent.

I spent almost three hours at Kohl’s today. Three. Hours. I needed a cart, for crying out loud. But I would be damned if I didn’t nail down my entire fall/winter wardrobe – including socks, underwear and shoes – by the end of the trip.

Today’s primary lesson was: Thank goodness for crinkle blouses. I get the semi-dressy, neat, professional look of a blouse, without even the slightest risk that I might ever look at it and go, “Shit. That needs to be ironed.” This is vital, because then I would have to a) locate the iron, b) locate the ironing board, and c) remember how to use a and b. And no matter when this was, you can bet I would not be in the mood.

I got two of the marvelous crinkle blouses (and I have two left from last year, though one might not match any of the pants that still fit). One is pink, grey, black and white print, so it matches the new gray tweed-type pants as well as the black ones. The other one is shades of tan, brown and green, and goes with the brown pants I got. That one has the wide fluttery sleeve-ends instead of a cuff. I love those; they make me feel all girly.

(Imagine with brown wide-legged dress pants. Not bad! Oh, and brown, high-heeled wingtips, about which you will shortly learn more.)

I got all obsessed over these deep royal-violet-blue corduroys, though, and that nearly brought the whole expedition grinding to a halt. They were such a cool color, and they fit perfectly and felt just right on. Kohl’s was displaying them with a deep royal-violet-blue corduroy jacket, but that was just way too much deep royal-violet-blue corduroy for me. Then I couldn’t find anything to match. I was busy longing for a sweater I got around 1981, which had the most lovely shades of purple, when I found a very similar color pattern in a short sleeve sweater, which then necessitated finding a light grey cardigan to break up all the purple. And cover my arms. My office is cold in the winter! What’s with all the short-sleeve blouses and silky tops? This is Minnesota.

Maybe someday I’ll go to Kohl’s and not walk around muttering my usual, “Everything needs to be much more sleevier” mantra, but today wasn’t the day.

This year’s shoe style of choice is high-heeled wingtip. The past few winters have been “high heeled ankle boots,” but I think it’s time to let that go. Or at least not wear them every day. Now I’ll be all fixated on high-heeled wingtips. And crinkle blouses. When I find something I like, I develop fashion autism and fixate on it, to the exclusion of everything else. Now that I have very similar (but not identical) wingtips in both black and brown, I’m completely set. Any other clothes I discover in the closet or laundry room, and which still fit (I’m up at least one full pants size, so anything that was a bit snug last year is going to be out of the question now), are just a bonus.

Then I went to SuperTarget (photo not available, oddly enough) and the library:

It's been a very full day. I am, of course, exhausted. And the worst part is that my day is not yet over. I desperately needed to get my overgrown, shaggy, rapidly-graying hair cut and colored before our anniversary. The only time Jolene could get me in was at 7:30 tonight. Considering it’s usually an hour and a half to two hours for the whole process, I won’t be home till well past my bedtime. We must suffer for our beauty, apparently.

I shouldn’t be so tired. I crashed at a few minutes after 9 last night, and actually slept till 9:20 this morning! The last time I remember sleeping that late was on 9/11, when I was awakened by my mother in law’s voice on our answering machine, wondering if we’d heard what was happening. That was at about 9:30 AM. I don’t know what it is lately, but I’m guessing it’s fall allergies just making me feel wrung out.

At the moment, I’m stuck in limbo. I want Tom to be home right now, so I can model my new clothes and amaze him with the fact that most of it actually matches. (This will not be official until he confirms the presence of color coordination.) But his new job includes not getting home until 6PM, which has shot the shit out of our late-afternoon plans on my days off. We won’t complain, though.

Well, he won’t, and I won’t much.