My new little black number
Shopping. Supposedly it’s one of women’s favorite pastimes. They get a buzz from finding a fabulous new pair of jeans and get excited when they find the perfect pair of boots to go with the new jeans. And don’t get me started on finding a new top that accentuates the body. They can spend hours, days, exploring shopping centers and never get bored or tired.
Notice I’ve separated myself from every other woman? Sure, there must be some women who hate shopping and only go when they have to. But the difference between the women who want to shop, the women who don’t but do in desperate times and myself is that, well, I’m just not that good at it. When I say not good, it’s not that I don’t have the eye for what I would look good in, because I do know what colours suit me and I do know that tight pants look good on me and I also know that I have the body for it. Five foot, eight inches, under 60 kilos, a perfect size eight – how lucky am I!
I should be one of those women who loves to shop.
But I hate it. Ok, maybe not hate, dislike is a better word. Most clothes shops have narrow aisles to walk through, so the frame often gets caught on a piece of clothing, or on a woman’s handbag and so I am constantly apologizing. And when I don’t have Scarlet (yes, the frame has a name), there’s usually nowhere to hold onto so I feel totally unstable and worried I am going to fall. Then there’s the dressing rooms. Ridiculously small and nothing to hold onto and when there is a seat in the room, it is often so low that it’s too hard for me to get back up!
Of course there are some disability friendly dressing rooms, but because of everything I’ve just described, the enjoyment just isn’t there.
I shouldn’t complain. Occasionally I find the courage to venture into a clothes shop and find a few garments that I am willing to try on. Take last Friday for example. After a lovely lunch with my mother, we walked into a shop next door to find a gift for someone, but looking back now, I think my mother had an ulterior motive – finding a black jacket for me to wear for the Jewish New Year. And lo and behold, amongst the skimpy little black dresses and the glitzy tops, there it was. A tight-fighting, cropped leather jacket. I tried it on and I have to admit, it looked amazing on me.
So on the odd occasion when I do go shopping, at least I can end up with something fabulous.
But just a side note, if there are any clothing shop owners reading this entry, maybe think about putting some chairs in your dressing rooms and widening the space between clothes racks.