Let’s Play Dress Up!

I went to Kohl’s the other day. (I love Kohl’s. It’s one of my favorite stores.) The daughter of my bestest BFF since. . .I think it was sixth grade when we met, maybe fifth. . .was getting married. The young lady is sort of my unofficial goddaughter. That meant I had to wear something nice to the wedding. Found a maxi-dress with brightly-colored red, hot pink, orange flowers down the side mixed with black and white horizontal lines of different sizes. Then I bought a lightweight white shrug to go with it. So I didn’t look like a float in the Tournament of Roses Parade. Okay, so I probably did still look like a float. But a pretty one. 

And because I believe each article of clothing requires three pairs of shoes to go with it, I purchased three pairs of shoes. No, really. I was shocked there were three pairs of shoes that matched the dress perfectly. One is a pair of ballet flats. Another is a moderately-heeled wedge. The last is a slide-on sandal with heels about 3 ― – 4 inches high. I thought I’d start out with the higher heels. By the end of the night I figured I’d be down to the flats. I thought perhaps I’d be barefoot by the time I started the Google-Map-estimated three-hour drive home.

Amanda’s wedding was held at the D&E Ranch waaay-the-heck out in the boonies, on Old Refugio Road. Smack dab in the middle of Old Refugio, Texas. There’s no such thing as pavement out there. Trust me. I carefully unfolded myself from the car after three hours and fifteen minutes driving. Stood up in the heels. Who knew knees could bend those directions? I attempted to walk, I truly did. After about seven steps I realized I looked like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie. (Oh, come on, kids. Everybody knows the movie Tootsie.) 

I breakdanced back to the car. Wiped sweat from my brow. Off came the heels. On went the wedges. Okay. I can do this. Just walk very slowly. Regally. Up went my nose and I carefully made my way across dirt, rocks, tufts of skinny-bladed brownish-green grass with nearly nary a wiggle. I’m sure I looked like a Victoria’s Secret model on the catwalk displaying the latest haute couture fashions. You know how those girls walk. That was me.

I gained the main building still on my feet. Made a PEE-line to the restroom. (It had been a Large Dr. Pepper three hour and fifteen minute drive. My eyeballs were floating.) The “restroom” was so darling. Yes, it was. I stepped inside and ran into the first stall’s narrow swinging doors. My right hip grazed the sink. I stubbed my right pinky toe on the second stall’s separating wall. Let me just say whoever architectured this building has never heard the phrase, “Plus Sized Women.”

After discovering my not-quite knee-length slip had managed to inch its way up to around my waist during the pleasant three hour and fifteen minute drive, therefore exposing my unders to anyone within sight while I walked back-lit from the car, I wedged myself comfortably onto the approximately twelve inches in diameter seat which hovered approximately twelve inches off the floor. My left shoulder jammed against the metal toilet paper roll dispenser. I threatened to rip it clean off the wall if it pulled so much as one thread of my shrug. The dispenser was afraid. Very afraid. 

I will not discuss the acrobatics it required to finish taking care of business. I will be glad when the bruise heals from slamming my right upper arm against the paper towel machine while I was washing my hands. I popped out of the “restroom” pretty much like a cork pops out of a bottle of champagne. Thank You, God! I prayed with utmost thanksgiving. I can breathe again!

I had a wonderful time. I hadn’t been to a wedding in several years. Things sure are different now. I discovered Jell-O Shots can be made with champagne. I thought Jell-O Shots were made with Cool Whip. (Excuse me. I was driving. I refused to make the three hour and fifteen minute drive intoxicated, thank you very much.) The DJ played songs by groups I’d never heard of. Kinda glad I haven’t, considering some of the lyrics. Guess I have turned into an old fuddy duddy, but a semi-mosh pit does not a wedding reception make as far as I am concerned. 

By the time I was ready to leave I discovered something had happened to the “restroom.” It had shrunk in size. Not sure how that could be, but it did. I think it was the extreme humidity. I was down past Victoria, Texas. (I live in the Houston area. I know humidity. It was humid there.) It had absolutely nothing to do with the two half-slices—that equals only one whole slice—of cheesecake I ate. No, it was definitely the humidity. I was forced to lock the door this time. Those narrow swinging doors to the stall had somehow become woefully inadequate at hiding myself from curious spectators. 

I drove home wearing the ballet flats. Those made it easier to hop down the hall toward my own bathroom once I arrived. From the three hour and fifteen minute drive. And yes, my not-quite knee-length slip had managed to inch itself up around my waist. Useless thing. See if I wear it again.

Flash back to Kohl’s. (Did I mention I love Kohl’s? That it’s one of my favorite stores?) I found a lovely white blouse with tiny pale blue flowers all over it. The blouse came with an attached white camisole. Awesome, I thought. Two-for-one. . .and it’s ON SALE!! Off I went to try the pretty ensemble on. Permit me to say I am overly delighted Public Dressing Rooms do not have cameras poised above each cubicle. (If you have credible information regarding the fact cameras ARE installed above Public Dressing Rooms, I do NOT want to know. I prefer to live in ignorant bliss.)

The incident began innocently enough. I placed my arms into both of the blouse’s ū sleeves and the camisole’s thin straps. Lifted my arms over my head, pulled the blouse/camisole down. Or so I thought I had both camisole thin straps in the appropriate place. I missed the left one. In my defense I must point out the camisole straps were not sewn directly to the blouse. They were attached by a loop of white, braided thread. This is a warning for those who discover a lovely blouse with an attached camisole. Things are not always as they appear.

I couldn’t get the blouse/camisole all the way down but couldn’t figure out why not. I tugged and twisted while the blouse dug its heels in and twisted the opposite direction. Both arms trapped above my head and crossed at the elbows, I decided to remove the stubborn article of clothing. No go. Something was caught around my shoulders. A button was crammed into my left nostril. “Oh, for pity’s sake. This is ridiculous,” I might have said aloud. I managed to bend my right arm around my neck to in front of my chin so as to unbutton the blouse.

The blouse partly unbuttoned, I discovered the camisole thin strap was strangling my left armpit. I hopped up and down until the camisole was jammed up the blouse’s right sleeve. Aha! I realized. There’s a belt. The belt was attached to the sides of the blouse and was behind my head caught on my ponytail. I knew immediately the belt had to be untied for me to escape. Plucking at the narrow roll of material with my right fingers I got it untied. I was mistaken. It was not untied, it was still united. In a knot. Holding one dangling belt end between my teeth I wriggled the knot loose using hands at the distal ends of arms bent and twisted at the elbows and wrists.

The belt untied, the buttons mostly unbuttoned, I wrestled the blouse over my head and onto the floor. I will not lie. For several seconds I entertained evil thoughts of stomping the living daylights out of the obviously possessed garment. Once my heaving breathing calmed and my pounding heart rate lowered below two hundred I gathered my wits and retrieved the blouse/camisole from the cold linoleum floor.

It was then I looked into the mirror. I don’t know who was in the small cubicle with me. I’d believed I was alone. This person’s hair was stuck straight up, the ends waving in the air like Medusa’s snakes. A glob of electrified hair was poking out the left side of the person’s head. I’m telling you it looked like a cat’s tail when it gets startled. The humanoid had four eyes. The facial skin was mottled dark pink and red. The mouth was twisted with teeth bared. It must’ve been related to the Michelin Man considering how many round layers were beneath the wobbly chin. I’m thinking it was Mrs. Michelin.

After I ricocheted off the two walls and door in abject terror I pushed my glasses up my nose so I could see better. She must’ve gotten frightened because I was alone in the cubicle. I almost felt bad for scaring her away. But, dang. She scared me first.

Waiting in line to check out at Kohl’s I began thinking how we human beings dress ourselves up to “look nice”, or “impress” people. We want to look our “best.” That reminded me of the Scripture where Peter. . .or was it Paul. . .maybe Mary (Peter, Paul and Mary. Get it? Ha-ha-ha! I crack me up!) talked about our finest robes being no more than filthy rags when we stand before the One True God. Then I remembered where God said He had clothed us with the righteous robes of His Son’s sacrifice so we are as pure to Him as His Own Son.

Thank You, Heavenly Father, for giving up Your Son for me. There is nothing I can say, nothing I can do, nothing I can wrap myself up in that will make me worthy of the Sacrifice He made. It was done for such a love as I cannot understand. Pure and simple. Amen.

Anyway, after deconstructing the blouse/camisole I did get it on properly. It fit well. Into the basket it went. Well? I had to buy it. After the harrowing experience it and I had been through we’d bonded. The instant I arrived home I took scissors to the idiotic braided thread holding the camisole thin straps to the blouse. Awesome. Two-for-one. And ON SALE!!

Until next time, may you be filled with God’s tender mercies. 

Jann (Sherry’s sister)