Shopping...It Used To Be Fun.

The dining-out angst has been simmering nicely on the back burner that is my brain for the better part of the week now. For those of you not up on the comings and goings of this Sheep About Town, I have committed myself to an evening out with co-workers this Friday. Out. With people. I will have to wear shoes. With other people. I may have mentioned it once or twice...but I don't get "out" much. I am more of a "curl up on the couch with a Hot Pocket and the TV Guide" kinda gal.

This has led to a lengthy examination of my life...and my wardrobe. While I am pretty content with the former, the latter is now the focus of my new "be social or die trying" motto. I needed to shop.

Fortunately, I am "blessed" with a young, hip and stunningly beautiful staff person who works in my classroom and against whom I can compare my drab, middle aged and cosmetically dependent self. If there is anyone whom I can observe for a few days for some pointers, then it be she. After stalking the poor girl mercilessly, I came to the conclusion that I do not have the time or the plastic surgery budget for the look I'm shooting for. Ze Sheep...she weep.

But not for long. For with age comes a bigger paycheck than that of the young, hip staff person. I might not be 27. But I can use retail therapy to make me feel better about it, by gum! To the Department Store!

My mission: a pair of brown pants (flat front, back pockets, mid-rise...), a pair of dressy jeans that can be worn to work (same styling as the brown pants) and, bear with me here, a pair of pointy toed shoes. That last item was the one thing from the cute little staff member's look that I thought I might be able to pull off. I like the pointy toed shoes. When I'm not sauntering about the town in all my fashionableness, I can play "witch." This is functional fashion. And could look neat with a pair of striped handknit socks.

Going into a store with such specifics in mind is poor strategy. I know this now. There were sizing issues. The dream will never be realized in a mid-price department store in rural Maine. By the time I grew weary of the whole process, I had tried on a bazillion pairs of pants and ended up buying a brown pair that is nowhere near what I had in mind. This necessitated the purchasing of a new turtleneck to offset their not-so-muchness. The jeans were located but are really too big. I'm just going to pretend that I've lost weight...

Clearer heads prevailed with regard to the pointy toed shoes. I am not a pointy toed shoe Sheep. We'll give that one a bit more thought before investing the dollars. I'm not sure that the ability to play "witch" is worth the pain of having your toes squished into what looks like the end of a ball point pen. I've got enough stress with the dining out thing going on without having to worry about how long you have to wear the shoes before your toes permanently meld together and you have to be carried around like those girls who had their feet bound in the way-back-when.

I'll figure out some outfit combo with this. How hard can it be? And it is one less thing to be worrying about at this point. I really need to put some quality time into reading the Dining Out For Dummies manual. And practicing sitting up straight. And carrying on meaningful conversations about something besides knitting. You know... with people instead of felines. The felines have been getting enough of me lately what with Great Shoe Debate and all.

Seriously...sometimes I could just scream.

SA