waiting for the skirt
Unlike Godot, however, the skirt does arrive. Two days ago, in fact. It had been on backorder for more than two months, so I have waited, and not patiently. (I'm an earlier opener of birthday and Christmas gifts by nature, although I'm constantly thwarted in this.) It was to be the most perfect skirt. The skirt which would illuminate my very personality. It would scream "Julie". It would make my eyes look bluer, this amazing skirt. This skirt was going to become the cornerstone of my summer wardrobe. In my mind, as I waited, the skirt took on mythic proportions. There was one event after another for which I imagined the skirt would've been perfect. If I'd only had the skirt, I would wear it now, I thought more than once. It didn't matter that I spent too much on the skirt because it was going to get a lot of use.
And then the skirt came, and it was all wrong. The size was somewhat ok, I'll grant that. Longer than I'd like, but then such is always the case for someone who evens out at five feet four, but with the body of a taller person and the legs of a shorter person. The fabric, however, was all wrong and completely unexpected from it's two line description in the glossy catalog. Instead of the light cotton summer skirt, with lovely boho stripes of wild color, the stripes were all made of different filmy non-natural fabrics and then there was a whole underskirt of heavier cotton. Instead of the easy, cool thing I imagined, it felt fussy and complicated and hot. And on the tag were the three words I most abhor in clothing--Dry Clean Only. The bottom, which looked acceptably "swingy" in the picture, was, in real life, extremely flouncy. Flamenco flouncy. More flounce than is desired for casual summer outings, art fairs, street dances. More flounce, really, than I care to be caught dead in.
So my mail-order dreams of the perfect summer skirt have been soundly trounced. Packing it up and returning it is going to sap the last ounce of energy I have for perfect summer skirt hunting. I have a limited supply of shopping energy and patience, and the chances of finding it in a store in this town are nil, believe me when I say this. And thus it goes each summer, when I never have the perfect summer skirt or garden party dress of my dreams. The thing I can throw on at the last minute and feel like a million bucks of cool ease.
And then the skirt came, and it was all wrong. The size was somewhat ok, I'll grant that. Longer than I'd like, but then such is always the case for someone who evens out at five feet four, but with the body of a taller person and the legs of a shorter person. The fabric, however, was all wrong and completely unexpected from it's two line description in the glossy catalog. Instead of the light cotton summer skirt, with lovely boho stripes of wild color, the stripes were all made of different filmy non-natural fabrics and then there was a whole underskirt of heavier cotton. Instead of the easy, cool thing I imagined, it felt fussy and complicated and hot. And on the tag were the three words I most abhor in clothing--Dry Clean Only. The bottom, which looked acceptably "swingy" in the picture, was, in real life, extremely flouncy. Flamenco flouncy. More flounce than is desired for casual summer outings, art fairs, street dances. More flounce, really, than I care to be caught dead in.
So my mail-order dreams of the perfect summer skirt have been soundly trounced. Packing it up and returning it is going to sap the last ounce of energy I have for perfect summer skirt hunting. I have a limited supply of shopping energy and patience, and the chances of finding it in a store in this town are nil, believe me when I say this. And thus it goes each summer, when I never have the perfect summer skirt or garden party dress of my dreams. The thing I can throw on at the last minute and feel like a million bucks of cool ease.
Comments
i hate the returning part of on line shopping. it almost makes it not worth it.