One of the problems with not having all of my clothing hand-sewn by a French tailor is that I sometimes see other people wearing the exact same thing I’m wearing. Like earlier this week when I was at the grocery store and I noticed a middle-aged woman reading the nutrition label on a container of coffee creamer. She was blonde, about 5’7″ and dressed in wrinkled shorts and the same “Everybody’s Somebody In Luckenbach” t-shirt I had on that day. Simply put, she was stunning.
Of course I immediately thought she was me, and that I was dead and looking down at myself in some kind of freaky metaphysical state that I didn’t really understand because I don’t go to church or like “Star Trek” very much. (Don’t send me letters.)
“But why,” I remember thinking, “would I be looking at the nutrition label if I’m dead? If there’s a weight limit for angels, I’m going to be pee-ISSED.” Then I got distracted by the cheese section and wandered away, so I don’t know what happened to my doppelganger. Maybe she’s still there reading.
In retrospect, I really should have had my picture taken with her so we could have done one of those “Who Wore It Best?” things they do in US Weekly. Kim Kardashian or The Other Kardashian? Jessica or Jessica? Dumbo or Goofy? Although, let’s face it, the grocery store lady’s Luckenbach t-shirt didn’t have cat hair and pudding stains on it, so it probably wouldn’t have been a fair fight. Nobody votes for pudding stains. I think that’s why Dukakis lost.
Another fashion thing I don’t like is when I get compliments on my clothing from weirdos. Like this long J. Crew skirt I have that I need to stop wearing because it attracts the wrong element. I wore it on a trip to the San Antonio Zoo last year and two compound women approached me (with their 12 children in tow) to say how much they liked it. On the one hand, that was nice. On other other hand, what does it say about my fashion-sense that women whose clothing choices are “long skirt or long skirt or hey, long skirt” think I’m stylish? Do I really want to be sending out the message “Make me your celestial wife”? Did they want to marry me or did they just like the skirt because it’s good for chicken feedin’ time? I do not know.
This same problematic skirt also drew attention from an elderly lady at the LBJ Presidential Library last weekend. “I saw y’all crossin’ the room in that cute skirt and just had to touch it,” she said. “What kinda material is it?”
“Um, cotton?” I muttered as she rubbed my skirt with her thumb and forefinger and I stared at a picture of LBJ as a child to make the situation less awkward. “Maybe the stretchy kind? Is there such thing as Elastic Cotton?”
“Well, no, dear, but it’s delightful,” she sighed. “I think I’m going to get one myself to go with my crocheted vests.”
She was obviously very sweet, and not a big fan of personal space, but just once I’d love to have someone like a supermodel approach me and say she adores what I’m wearing. Of course, the problem with this wish is that A) Supermodels don’t usually hang out in the litter box aisle of PetSmart and B) Supermodels aren’t usually fans of jorts.
Maybe I need to just shut up and crochet a vest.