Sometimes I am too aware that my blog is on the Internet. I am tongue-tied with sudden shyness and want to duck into the other room so I don’t have to talk to anyone. I want to type something here before I go to bed, but as I scroll down the list of potential topics, I discard each one. Too personal. Can’t talk about that. Wouldn’t want to mention that.
I’m aware of eyeballs watching, afraid of silent judgments, unwilling to discuss the real life I’m living right now.
What do you want to talk about?
I know! Let’s talk about shopping.
Last night at about 1 a.m. I started shopping online for a dress to wear for an upcoming occasion. I’d like to know why almost all the available dresses are sleeveless? What are middle-aged women with mushy arms like me supposed to wear? And the necklines . . . hello? Am I the only woman in America who does not want to reveal my cleavage to the general population? Let’s not even talk about belts that hug the upper ribcage which make you look like you’re wearing a maternity smock.
I shopped and shopped and shopped . . . and gasped a little at the dresses that cost more than my couch . . . and finally ended up with a few things in a virtual shopping bag. I am going to go check tonight and see if I still think those dresses would work. If they don’t, I’ll return them.
And on Saturday, I’m going to the mall, which is probably the dumbest place to go on an August afternoon. The guys at the kiosks accost me every time. I feel like I’m walking down a metropolitan sidewalk, avoiding panhandlers. But maybe I’ll find something that makes me look cuter than I feel and will make a good first impression.
Where are Stacy London and Clinton Kelly when you really need them?