Earlier this summer I needed to spruce up my wardrobe. I am not particularly fond of shopping as ‘looking’ is not my strong point. If I find something suitable it needs to pass some vigorous trials in order to be promoted to the change room. The texture test i.e. when I touch it, it doesn’t make me shiver or shriek; and, if it passes the colour class, it may be fortunate enough to be tried on. The mirror, however, cannot see any better than I can! (It’s funny to think that all the mirrors I look into are visually impaired too).
When I put on floral blouses I feel lost amongst the vegetation. I imagine an inner voice…”Adam, where are you?” Plain or finely patterned garments allow me to better locate the pale pinky- grey expressionless smudge above the garment as my Caucasian face. I have only now realised why I prefer to wear patterned garments nearer my lower half.
Shoe shopping is sheer shenanigans! My family just about place bets … the loser takes me shoe shopping. First I have to be able to bend the sole clean in half to check flexibility; then it needs to have tread to last this pedestrian at least 200kms on various surfaces; then it has to be a slip on … not slip off! After all that it needs to be fashionable enough for family approval…as I cannot see my feet… unless a pedicurist has plastered my toenails with fire engine red and I am bent in half with my eyes near my knees.
Oh I am a shocking shopper.
Acknowledgment: To my very patient, excellent shopper and size-spotter husband who ventures into areas of the store where many other men would fear to tread.