I have my differences with these most girls, and I am more than fine with that. But every once and a while I get sucked into a “most girls day” at the mall. Being as a day spent with my best friend was long overdue, we took an afternoon out on the town, or rather, out on the mall.
Here’s fact: I’m the type of girl that goes shopping half a dozen times a year, each with a very specific purpose, i.e. new dress and heals, or jean shorts and kicks. The little shops with all of their glory do not appeal to me for one very concise reason: All of the clothes look amazing on me, but I’m flat broke 95% of the time. To avoid falling in love with clothes I can’t afford, I avoid the designer shops as a whole.
Yesterday was the exception to my rule. We weaved and wandered and window-shopped until I thought I was going to die should I come across one more article of clothing that was obnoxiously screaming my name. I’d had enough. It was time to try on something pretty.
J.C Penny’s (which I realize is not one of those compact designer stores, but go with me here) had all of their prom dresses on sale. I’ve been in love with prom dresses since I was thirteen. I fell in love with a big, poofy, pink, floor length ball gown that made me feel like Cinderella. It was like the ultimate game of dress-up. Unfortunately my mother made me return it. Prom was to be a very, very long time away. Hence, my continuing fetish with prom dresses. I at least had to try on the pretty ones.
The last time I had one physically on my body was probably two years ago when a large portion of my baby fat still remained firmly, and very unattractively, on my legs. I’m the first to admit that I was downright misshapen! I avoided any dress that hung straight or was shorter than my kneecaps. Most of the time I still see myself as that little girl with the weird body and look for the more sophisticated styles.
Oh, how times have changed!
I talked myself into trying on some short, short, “You actually wore that in public!?” short dresses. THEY LOOKED AMAZING!!! I’m no longer misshapen, nor does it need to be catered to with non-teenager-like styles. I can rock the junior section!
Here’s the sad part: I fell in love with two dresses that I can’t afford simply because I have nowhere to wear them. One is a floor length, straight ball gown. It is dark blue with beaded straps. My best friend said I looked like a Grecian goddess in it, and I happened to agree. However that was not the aspect that particularly tempts me. The temptation arose when I remembered that I do in fact have an event that I could wear it to if only I could find a colored sweater to wear with it, and it’s 50% off! Sigh…. Despite all of this, I left empty handed. Fortunately, should I be convinced to return, I know the way.
Just to reinforce my disdain for the mall life, let me give you a true example. While I was trying to talk myself into or out of this beautiful dress, I was asked to retrieve another dress for my best friend. Sure, I would go get it. When I walked out of the dressing room, the prom dresses were nowhere in sight. Hmm… So I started walking in the direction in which I thought I might find them and eventually they appeared. By the time I found the correct size, the dressing room was now the thing that was nowhere in sight. Again I headed in the direction I thought would lead me back to my desired location, except this time I was not successful. I now knew that their about a gillion dressing room in the upper level of J.C. Penny’s, but the one I was searching for had disappeared. I was lost. Yes, the girl who can find her way out a strange city, in the dark no less, was lost in the mall, in a prom dress, with no phone. It was only after I began to pass the same few things time after time that I resorted to desperate measures. I asked three different clerks if they had happened to see which dressing room I came out of. They hadn’t. I got several stern glares from passersbys, but smile I did. It was really quite ironic to be lost, in a mall, in a prom dress, looking like you’re totally high, on a mission to find a dressing room. Ha. In case you were wondering, I did eventually find the dressing room that contained my belongings. As it turns out, it was the only one in the entire store that wasn’t marked. So I’m not that stupid, just directionally challenged within the walls of the mall.
Today was not such a “most girls day,” and so I decided to wear my two new purchases: a sparkly headband and a pair of patterned tights ($1, and very cute I might add) with a pencil skirt and black shirt. Simple, elegant, accessible. That’s how I’ve always been.
Because it is awfully rare that I get new, noticeable items in my wardrobe, I received several compliments on my headband, and only one comment on my tights. This one particular comment came from the mouth of an older woman who is known for talking just a little too much. She has probably spoken to me 10 times in the entirety of my life, and only once had a legit conversation. Out of the blue, she comes up to me and says, “I’ve been trying to figure out what your hose remind me of, and I finally figured it out! You look like a cow! I mean, your legs; they look like cow’s legs. Yeah, okay, bye!”
I looked down at my tights. They’re black. They’re shear. They have a pattern that swirls randomly. Does that sound like a cow to you, dear reader? I swear some people would be much better off if they just never spoke out loud at all. But then again, I suppose that’s why I don’t have the power to shut people up. If I did, there would be an awful incident of mute people in central Illinois.
Despite being told I look like a cow in my tights, I still rather like them. They’re different I suppose, kind of like me. I’m not like other girls, remember? And, let you tell you, standing out as different is not a bad way to be. As it is, I am blessed with three people I explicitly trust in this world, one I truly love. I have one passion, one goal: to live, to love, to laugh, to be happy. And I have officially accepted, cow tights and all, I am who I am, and I’m okay with being just that.
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