People who know me, know that clothes shopping comes right below have wisdom teeth removed with no anesthetic in the line up of things I want to do. I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to pretend that I understand women’s fascination with clothes and shoes and bags. And now I’ve reached an age where I feel I must make my declaration and let the bras fall where they may. Here it is!
I buy clothes to cover my naked body because society frowns on me walking down the street nude and, to be honest, when you live in Alaska that’s not a good choice. As long as the clothes cover my body, they are doing all I ask of them. Do not expect me to ooh and aah over a fabric, or cut or style or color. Do not expect me to ever buy something that takes more care than throwing it in the washer and dryer, with the occasional application of spray and wash when needed. I don’t hassle you over your obsession with shoe styles or heel heights or purse size. You don’t hassle me over the fact that I’m too old to even pretend to care anymore.
Women’s obsession with clothes has been a mystery to me since I was old enough to understand I was expected to view clothing as something other than that needed to cover my nakedness. I now concede I not only have no idea what you all are talking about, but I’m no longer going to try to pretend in order to fit in.
Whew. I feel better already.