petits riens

so, once in a while my mother and i go on adventures of the consumer set.

we're, generally, window shoppers. stopping into little boutiques and making big eyes at hefty price tags and poking fun of ridiculous trends (i wish i had a photo of the bizarre silk harem pant tube top jumpsuit with the nausea-inducing print i tried on just for laughs).

however, on this particular day, after she got an uber-fresh haircut (that very much matches my own - weird), we, trenchcoated and dark denimed, stopped into a few little lovelies.

we commenced the usual ritual of pulling items into overabundant piles and going to the dressing room where we try things on, laugh at ourselves and, under normal circumstances, leave the store satisfied.


no, no, dear reader. not this time.

today, behind an array of other dresses i discovered a small, black gem in my size...which i pulled without much thought...a few other things...something striped, something sweatered, something strapless...

off to the dressing room we went and began trying things on.

my mother insisted on the black dress first. so, i pulled it over my head and my mother zipped me up...and, without a word, we both stared at the mirror in awe.

a dress has never fit better. my mother fell in love with it and insisted it was something i must, post haste, own. i nodded obediently. my mother would never forsake me. her fashion sense is top notch.

fine.

an oversized sweater that was lovely. no. absurdly priced.
a strapless dress with a mustard print. no. mustard makes me look sick.
a pale pink, draped chemise. no. ill fitting.
a victorian style peacoat. no. i have a peacoat...let's be practical here.
the harem pants mentioned earlier...ha. no. i looked like a psychedelic pierrot.
a navy, cotton shirt dress with a cinched waist. well. hm. how about that...another perfect fit.

again, the awe washed over us like high-tide on the white sand beaches of heaven as we realized that not one, but two dresses fit me.

let me make one thing perfectly clear. things don't fit me. it's something i've come to accept.
the only things that do fit are grotesquely priced.
since this realization, i've exercised my ability to wear oversized clothing without looking too much like a 13 year old chimney sweep...ok. that's a lie. i'm totally chimney sweep couture, governor (obviously pronounced "govnah").

so, this was something akin to planetary alignment...i half expected a meteor to hit the planet and wipe out our entire species at that very moment.

upon agreeing that this was a necessity as well, i heard, from my bag, a small sob.
yes, it was my wallet, silently strumming its invisible guitar and singing an emo song about unfairness, brokenheartedness, and overall poverty.

my wallet wrote a ballad later when i purchased a men's style, white button down shirt, aptly named the "boyfriend shirt" to serve as a stand-in until i am able to reunite once more with a lovely little number owned by my paramour.

...but, get this...as i readied myself to begin closet-weeding around midnight (i, commonly, get these urges at odd times of the day), i pulled out said button down for final inspection and found that the back was completely swiss-cheesed with pin holes.

"a display model!!!" i screeched.

dismayed, i folded the shirt back up, made sure i had the receipt and was completely discouraged and decided that tonight was not the night to closet-weed.
instead, i opted to write about it and draw.
so, there.