March Matron

Here is my default position; wear pants that aren’t jeans, a white t-shirt, something over the t then add a scarf. Considering some of the places I need to go to, they are lucky I don’t show up in a hazmat suit. (Most things don’t concern me anymore except bed bugs and there appears to be a rise in infestation in the area. Ick.) So evidentially I need five days of real, as opposed to pretend, business casual. Sigh! As mentioned in other posts, I have a few road blocks to acquiring this type of wardrobe: I hate shopping, I have no idea what business casual really means, I never plan on wearing the stuff again so my motivation is minimal as is my desire to part with a substantial amount of money and finally I’m too old and fat for apparel I consider ridiculous, (Ridiculous includes anything tight, pinchy, squishy, itchy, hot or anything with lace, sequins, beads, a pattern or a color and finally anything that has to be ironed.) Do you see my issue? Many, many, many stores later and I have found a purse (hooray!), a new roller bag slash suitcase like thing and a whole bunch of cute little travel size products that I don’t really need. (I’ve also acquired a potential date for oldest my daughter with one of the cute clerks.) We end up at the store with the dressing-room psycho-guard who informs me about three thousand times that the limit is six. (Six was the limit? I wasn’t quite sure.) She insists on counting every batch of clothes I bring in, and some batches several times after I point out that six items does not equal more than six items and thus six shirts should qualify in the limit of six. What, I am sure you are dying to know, did I end up with? Three pairs of pants made out of some indestructible, flame retardant material, two blouses made out of similar material (one is actually fuchsia) and two dozen t-shirts. Excellent!