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.
You write with such humor but touch on the everyday things that can become huge challenges. Great insights!
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