And, I mean like, heart black as night bad.
My poppet had her tonsils taken out recently. After day 4, my perky Mary Poppins routine was wearing thin. I can only do brisk optimism for so long and then I turn into this nasty chewed piece of string, screaming things like, "Fine! Don't take your medicine! Suffer! I'm taking you back to school!"
After dinner, I suggested to the husband that he enjoy some time with his daughter while I went out. So first I went to Whole Foods and enjoyed some food porn. Then I went to the bookstore and browsed. Finally, I went to Kohl's to see if they had started carrying my favorite underwear again that they discontinued 4 years ago. I'm a dreamer.
As I walked past the entrance to the dressing room, I ran into an acquaintance. Not someone I know well. I mean, I know her name but I couldn't tell you where she lives. We go through the usual pleasantries of 2 people who really don't care. (Hi! How are you? You look great!)
That was when I went one step too far. Remember, I hadn't been out of the house for a week. I was weak. I said, "Wow! That's quite an armload! Did you find some good deals?"
She looks at me and replies," My father died yesterday and I'm trying to find something to wear to his funeral." Suddenly, I notice the red eyes, messy hair. Silence. Somewhere, I swear I hear a clock ticking. Tumbleweed blowing. I had to say something and what came out was, "Come on, honey, show me what you've got and we'll sort it all out."
This woman tends to dress like she hates herself and I wasn't surprised that the pile in her arms consisted of things no one should pay for, let alone wear. See? I told you my soul was black. I took the pile from her and started sorting it.
"Ok, this sweater is cute but not formal enough for a funeral. Maybe the wake? This houndstooth suity thing is too boxy for you. I mean, come on, no one has looked good in a boxy suit since Moonlighting, right? Now, this dove gray duster is fantastic on you! All those drapey ruffles are so flattering. No, no. Don't wear it with black. I am going to grab you a violet tank and, here, try on these wide leg trousers. Wear it with pearls and you'll be so lovely and appropriate. No. You don't have to wear all black!!! Your daddy wouldn't want to see his little girl dressed in all black like some Sicilian widow. He would want you to look elegant and lovely. "
We finally pulled together a pile of clothes and started walking out of the dressing room to the register. We hugged. Awkward. And that's when I couldn't resist. I just couldn't stop myself.
"Listen, while we're here... I think you should get this... and this... oh, and definitely this. They are really good staples and, oh my gosh, look how they bring out your eyes and hair! You could just mix them in and just totally perk up your wardrobe!"
Honestly, I am a shit. I gave a forced makeover to a grief stricken semi stranger in Kohls. For no reason at all. This dawned on me as I watched her walk, in a fog, to the register laden with all the things I had thrown at her. I told Lorie about it later that night and she assured me that when the fog lifted, she would return everything and revert to her Amish uniform of self hatred. She's probably right.
Anyway, it's got me wondering. I'm Catholic, but I never go to confession. Ever. But just this once, I think I might go. I am dying of curiosity to hear what kind of penance Father would give for this sort of thing. Actually, I am not so much interested in the penance, but how long the pause would be after I told him this story. I would time it. My advice to you? If you see me near a dressing room and you are feeling fragile? Run. There's something profoundly wrong with me.
~dana
