Everyone already seems to have their outfits. My mother is looking for just the right hat, but other than that, the females all seem to have their outfits, down to the shoes. Gulp. So I took myself off to Michigan Avenue in Chicago just to browse, perhaps try a few styles on to see what suits me. Big mistake.
It was a very quiet morning, so I was pounced on as soon as I walked in most stores. One shop looked particularly promising so I waded in despite three beaming sales assistants bearing down on me. They all introduced themselves to me and asked me my name. Argh. Too much communication. Despite informing them that I was
Eventually I was coerced into trying on a long-ish, floaty summery dress. I had misgivings about it looking good on me only because it had a peasant-y elastic waist and a round neck, but hey - you have to try things on don't you. The "Oh dear" that I emitted probably gave the girls a clue that I wasn't happy, but when I walked out of the changing cubicle (the mirrors are all outside so you have to come out), I was met with thinly disguised looks of horror, until one assistant managed to rescue the situation by saying "You know, I don't know one shape that dress looks good on." (Like I said, they were good.)
For some reason, they grabbed a dress that may have been a different length (short) and colour, but it was still pretty much the same style. I tried it on, this time more for a laugh and to show them that "I know my body", than anything else. The thick white athletic socks I kept on probably didn't enhance the look but still - Oh dear, oh dear.
"See, I have no waist and a very long torso this look just doesn't..........".
Whoosh, a black patent belt was cinched around me in a nano-second, followed by a chorus of "Oh yes, that's so cute".
I can't even tell you how ridiculous I looked. The dress (a frothy gathered affair, when I should be wearing slim pencil silhouettes) came about four inches above the knee. (Did I tell you I was going to the wedding with my nineteen year old daughter? Mutton dressed as lamb anyone?) The "waist", being elasticated, was about two inches below my armpits - never a great look but worse when it's then "cinched". My boobs quite frankly made me look like a matronly milkmaid in the round-neck gathers! As I said, "Oh dear, oh dear".
"I don't even like it", I said, seizing the only way to get back into my comfy jeans and shirt. No point mentioning that customers of "a certain age" should never be dressed by twenty year old, bored stiff sales assistants.
Think I'm exaggerating?