Mark Twain once said, "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society." While I agree that we need to make a good impression, I have to say that clothes can debilitate the woman. Let me explain.
I planned on wearing my black skirt, blouse, and jacket until Hubby mentioned how hot it was going to be in the afternoon, and he asked if I could wear something other than funeral clothes. I searched through my meager closet and found a dress I thought I had donated to the thrift store. It had been a little too big the last time I wore it, plus it is polyester and tends to get static cling in a bad way, but since the day was warm and humid, I thought that wouldn't be a problem. Dress shoes weren't a problem since I only have one pair, and seldom wear them.
We met Lil in the parking lot and she told me how nice I looked and remarked that she was glad I didn't have on a funeral dress. What is it with these people and their aversion to funeral attire. Little did she know that I bought this before going to an uncle's funeral a few years ago.
We had arrived on campus just in time for a luncheon and walked over to the building where it was being held. It was then that I realized I had made a poor choice in both dress and shoes. The slip I was wearing beneath the dress was also polyester and as we walked toward the building, it began a slow ascent up my legs. I found that the slower I walked, the less the slip climbed which was good, because the pain in my feet was making it hard to walk fast anyway. I did find that if I kept my hands pressed against the sides of my legs, my slip couldn't crawl up any further, thus preventing a completely see-through dress look. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing and the dress had a short jacket which eventually worked its way off my shoulders while my hands were pinned to my legs, so I had to release a hand to hold it on.
The more we walked, the more my feet hurt and I had thoughts of Japanese foot binding, and wondered if the binding ever cut off the nerve endings to end the pain. Finally, the pressure on my tootsies was even too much for my hose, and it gave way in the area of the big toe of my left foot, and as we walked, the hole in the hose tightened around my toe like a tourniquet. Meanwhile, the little toe on my right foot had formed a blister.
When we got to the basketball center where the graduation was held, we had to walk down a hall on the perimeter of the building and had gone about halfway when Hubby noticed I was lagging further and further behind on my little club feet. He told me to wait there while he found Lil, and I found the ladies room where I adjusted the loathsome slip and took off the right demon shoe to find that the blister had burst and coated the side of the shoe and hose with *ahem* wetness.
I spent the entire afternoon hobbling from one event to another, while trying to keep my slip from trying to crawl up my body where I'm sure it's intent was to wrap itself around my head and strangle me. When it was close to reaching its goal, I had to excuse myself again and again to the ladies room to adjust the heinous thing.
After the ceremony, we intended to take another picture of her and head home so she could spend the evening with her buddies, but after we got back to her dorm, another friend and her family came over and wanted to go to dinner. They had made reservations at 7pm. They had already changed into jeans and comfortable shoes which only reminded me how miserable I was. I asked if we could stop by a department store and let me grab a pair of shoes, so we left the apartment a little early. I knew that almost any pair of shoes was going to feel better than the ones I had on, and quickly found a pair, although it's hard to really get the feel of walking in shoes when there are two of them tied together with a zip tie and a security device hanging off it. Also, I tried on a shoe on my left foot instead of my bigger right because my right foot was just too gross.
Then, because I hadn't kept my hands pinned against my side, my slip was once again around my waist, and I stopped by the clothing rack on my way to the checkout counter. I picked up a pair of jeans and asked Lil to find a shirt in my size, the only requirement being that it wasn't low cut. I left the new shoes with Hubby and hobbled over to the dressing room. When I took off the right demon shoe, the ooze had stuck it to my toe and I had to rip it off. That hurt. But the jeans actually fit great, though I was willing to settle for anything that zipped up. I took them off, ready to hand them off to Lil when she brought a shirt for me to try on, and then I was going to send her racing to the checkout and bring them back to me to wear out of the store. I sat there in my skivvies and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, I pulled my dress and shoes back on and hobbled out to find what was keeping her. She was standing in front of the shirt rack saying she couldn't find anything she thought I would like. At this point, like had nothing to do with it, it was all about comfort. I stopped at a rack, picked up two shirts in my size and went back to the dressing room. Not only did the first shirt fit, it was even one I liked. So I handed them off to Lil and told her to go buy everything and bring it back to me. I figured it would be a problem with the dressing room sentry, even if I told her I had CSS (Creeping Slip Syndrome), but she seemed to be ok with Lil's explanation. I changed quickly and we left, arriving at the restaurant about 15 minutes late.
It was a pizza restaurant known for it's Chicago style pizza which the others in the group wanted. So we ordered and waited. And waited. And waited. With an 18 month old at our table. Finally, the waitress came to say that Chicago style pizza takes longer to cook than regular pizza and opening the oven door frequently for the regular pizzas was making it take even longer. When we asked how much longer, she said it wouldn't be much longer. So we waited some more. And waited. And waited. I don't know why we stayed. People around us got their pizza, ate, and left, and more people took their places, got their pizza, ate, and left, and still we waited. Finally, the manager came to say that our pizza was taking so long because it takes longer to cook than regular pizza and opening the oven door frequently for the regular pizzas was making it take even longer. Yep, exactly the same thing the waitress said. Why he felt the need to come repeat this, we didn't know. It didn't speed up the process and he didn't tell us it would be out in a minute. He also didn't offer us any appetizers while we waited, and he didn't offer to comp the meal because it was taking so long. Finally, when we were getting ready to leave, the pizzas came - two hours after ordering. And no, it wasn't worth the wait. It was absolutely the worst pizza I have ever eaten.
And thus ended my day of joy and misery.
Until next time, may you have blessings and comfortable clothes,