#13 / Once again the old saying “there’s one in every crowd” means exactly me
Everybody seems to get the hang of summer all at once, including spiders, garden centres, you-know-who’s fleas, Enbridge collections department, my dandelions, my co-workers, and everybody else who suddenly show up in appropriate colours and sleeve-lengths, shorts already, sandals or cute little flats, lighter than air attitudes, and matching hair.
How did I miss the boat again and so severely?
I do not have this trouble in the fall. To the contrary, in the fall, I lead the parade. I’m raring to jump back into my jeans and sweaters, socks, boots, hats and hoods. There is perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm on my part because sometimes I barely survive those Indian Summer days everybody loves so much.
But going into summer is an ordeal. Take today, for instance.
I tried on practically everything I own this morning, including things that I would not even consider wearing at all and especially not to work when I am taking the GO train beneath uncertain, but temperate, skies. It was as if I was trying everything on for fun, which it wasn’t, and each time I went into three different rooms and cackled at myself under unique lighting situations and angles.
Everything still fit, and in some cases there was enough room for me and Daisy and the cat, but nothing was working, if you know what I mean. Nothing was, as my kids would say, killing it
I ended up in jeans and a white shirt, silver high-tops, which sounds nice and actually is nice except for one single problem, or maybe two. I forgot about this shirt’s faults over the winter when it didn’t matter what bra you wore and I just flew out the door as-is. The fault lies in the fabric, a light cotton that absolutely requires an undershirt or whatever grown-ups call them. A capsule. That was auto-correct for camisole, lol, and would have done just fine thank you, either to the future or just a nice little micro-dose of something psychedelic.
So I’ve been walking with my hands in front of my chest all day, feigning interest in my phone mostly. This proved a problem at lunch because I went and bought a few too many groceries which required a bag in each hand, what with the two for $5.99 cauliflowers, etc., but I put on my sunglasses and remembered the innocence of childhood when you used to think people couldn’t see you when you had your eyes closed.
Back to the pile of clothes on my bed, which will once again be shoved into my closet this evening, lightly dusted with cat fur no doubt, because – and I know I’ve said this before – of the still-attached and astonishing price tags.
But let’s not get into that again.
Clearly I need to go shopping in a sensible way. In my mind I know exactly what I need: A few summer tops, a few pairs of light-coloured pants, maybe a light cardigan or jacket, and some lovely, comfortable, versatile flats and/or sandals. Also a camisole and no more runners. Which is nice and simple and reasonable-sounding, and also affordable.
But no.
Here are the texts to prove my folly concerning my first purchase of the day/season.
me: I just bought a Raspberry-Sherbet jumpsuit
my sister: Send me a pic
me: proudly sends pic
my sister: Cool – very brave of you
And that’s when I knew I blew it. Or shortly thereafter.
When people think your wardrobe choices are brave, there is also something else they think.
Soon after reading that text, but not immediately, I understood that the Raspberry-Sherbet jumpsuit would, in all probability, become one with 2012’s very brave Diesel dress, the silver boots that are more truthfully explained as mirror boots, and other courageous garments.
I know this is true, or at least very likely, and I know it in advance, yet I can’t wait until my new jumpsuit arrives. And it looks like it will be soon, too! Or is that the sunset?
I keep checking my email. It’s shipped already and likely to arrive tomorrow. I’ve already informed them at reception that there’s no need to text me when it arrives. I’ll see it coming.
