This morning I had a major anxiety filled panic-ridden flipout…
But first a bit of background.
Our youngest daughter is getting married in eight days.
yes – EIGHT!
Now I am already having a bit of a belly-wobble about what may or may not be expected of us (well ME) on the actual day, but I also don’t have anything appropriate to wear…
No – seriously!!
I am a person who own three work shirts, which I religiously wash and rotate – and when I’m not at work, I am a denim shorts & singlet kinda gal, or ¾ flowy hippie kinda pants, and a t-shirt.
In winter – its jeans and a flannelette shirt, or track-pants and sloppy-joe.
I’ll occasionally wear a skirt around the farm – but its gotta be a long baggy one. lol
If I could wear pyjamas all day – that would be fiiiiiine with me!
Getting ‘glammed-up’ makes me very uncomfortable…
I also am someone who not only doesnt spend much money on clothes – preferring to buy second-hand – but i actually think its a really stupid waste of money to splash out a ton of cash on something that is either only going to be worn once – or will only be worn a couple of times in its lifetime.
So – back to how I got to where I ended up being, today.
Its eight – YES EIGHT – days until the wedding.
Last weekend, My Love and I trooped off to two neighbouring towns, to find something for us to wear.
Shop #1, and My Love found clothing – and looks absolutely stunning!!
I manage to find only ONE thing to try on – a shirt – and it looks beyond hideous 😐
So off we troop to Shop #2, in a neighbouring town – and it turns out that that shop – although we had both heard great reviews of it – pretty much only stocks vintage clothing, in a size 10.
Firstly – I am not keen on a vast array of vintage clothing.
Secondly – I am not a size 10.
I think the last time I was a size 10, I was about 8 years old 🙁
I get the shits after this, and we go off and have a coffee and abandon clothes shopping.
Fast forward 5 days – and we arrive at today.
And I still haven’t organised any clothing.
Panic is setting in.
I know I have been avoiding it – but i had a good ‘excuse’ – I didn’t really have any spare cash until the end of the week, and I didn’t want to add to my already bulging credit-card.
But this morning – I knew I had to bite the bullet and JUST DO IT!
There are basically only two shops left in town, and one of them actually has stuff in the windows that doesn’t make me want to run in the other direction – so into town I drove, and as luck would have it – there was a parking spot right out the front.
After parking the car, I looked up and realised it was closed.
Breathe Sarah, breatheeeeee….
Ok, so its not quite 9am.
Its a clothes boutique, so its not going to open before 9.
Settle petal, sit in the car, listen to the radio, breathe, and just wait.
Its only 10 to 9.
They’ll open in a few minutes…
Ok, so they’re running a bit late.
Its still pitch black inside the store. I get out and check if they have their hours on the door.
So I make the decision to walk to the only other boutique in town that stocks ‘fancy’ clothes, which is a couple of doors up the street.
I enter the shop, and feel that all too familiar drop of my stomach, as I look at all the different racks.
No one is in the store.
I can’t even see the attendant anywhere.
I start to look through the racks.
I look through probably 35-40 items before I find something that is actually in my size range.
The fact that its in my size isn’t much of a joy though – when it looks like grandmas knitted tea-cosy! 😐
I’ve been in the shop about 6 minutes I guess, when a man comes in through the front door.
He’s walking by me and turns and asks: “can I help you with anything?”
Eeeek – ok – I’m a sexist asshole!! – I admit I had expected a woman to own the shop.
I explain my dilemma to ‘Peter’ and also explain that clothes shopping is my idea of hideous agony, and that if we could make it through this experience without me crying – we’d be doing well.
I think he thought i was joking…
I explained to him what sort of ‘fancy’ I could feel most comfortable in, and that I thought I’d prefer pants and a top, but would be amenable to a dress if it didn’t make me look like the michelin-man in drag.
We went through a few options, and it was no, no, no.
Then I tried on a top I liked the colours of – and it was quite nice.
Needed to have a few stitches between the buttons so it didn’t gape at the front (not because it was tight – it wasn’t, just weird button placing with too much distance between each button), but it was a definite possible.
He then got me some pants to go with it.
Long floor-length flowy ones.
They were about 12 inches toooo long…
Another pair of pants.
Too big, and had a weird jodhpur bulge at the thigh.
And another pair.
Finally a ¾ length pair, cos he’s realised at this point I don’t have legs, I have STUMPS!
(they’re not really long enough to warrant being called legs 😐 )
The shirt and pants don’t look hideous together.
I have shoes at home that will go with the outfit.
I’ll take ’em!!
Off we go the the register.
He: “Will that be cash or card?”
Me: ‘eftpos thanks’
“No problem” says he and he slips the card out of my hand. “Thats $269 – thank you”
I say nothing.
I’m pretty sure I turn white.
I feel my throat constrict – I’m about to vomit.
He swipes my card and hands over the machine.
I enter my PIN.
He hands my card back, puts the receipt in the bag and then hands me the showy glamorous black and white bag that contains my purchases.
I manage to squeak out a question: “Can I bring them back tomorrow if My Love doesn’t think they’re appropriate for the wedding?”
“Sure,” says he. “We can give you a credit, but we don’t do refunds.”
The bile is rising, and the tears are swelling under my eyelids – I need to get out of there or I’m going to vomit on his floor.
I get to my car, throw the bag across to the passenger seat, and direct my car to the nearest public car park.
What have i DONE!!!
Thats a fortnights worth of groceries.
Thats a huge chunk I could have paid off my debt.
Thats almost my usual entire YEAR worth of clothing allowance.
I have one shirt and one pair of pants, and the shirt is see-through, so I still have to add an undershirt to the outfit before it can be worn, and the pants don’t even have fucking pockets!!!
WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE??!!??!!
I sat in my car, trying not to dry-retch.
Trying not to cry.
Not knowing what to do.
I sent a text to My Love, with a basic rundown of what had just happened.
The phone rings almost immediately – and my love is at the other end.
I lose it totally, sobbing into the phone.
Mortified at the amount of money I have just spent – and all because I felt like I had to sort out this idiotic problem of not having anything to wear to the wedding, TODAY!
Loving words come back at me through the phone: “Don’t worry about it. It will be fine. Where are you?”
I explain I am in my car, at the grocery car-park, so that I can go do the grocery shopping like I’d planned earlier.
“Go home,” says My Love. “I’ll do the shopping after work. Just go home, settle down, and i’ll try drop in later if I can…Don’t worry about the money. Its fine!! Just go home, once you feel you can drive ok.”
The words make me cry even harder.
Such caring, such love, such understanding…
I’m spinning in a swirling world of mortification and gratitude.
I managed to get out between the sobs, that I am still going to go shopping.
I’ll get my shit together and go.
I’m a grown woman – I can do this.
My Love repeats: “Go home. I’ll do the shopping. Don’t worry about the money. Its fine!! Just go home.”
We hang up.
I sit in the car for a while.
I get out of the car, and go into the store.
I get what we need.
I realise I’ve forgotten our grocery bags.
I’ll have to pack in plastic.
I’m annoyed at yet another stupid thing that i’ve done for the day.
I remind myself to be kinder to me.
To cut myself some slack.
I’ve had a shit morning, I’m stressed, its understandable that I left the bags behind.
I pack four bags worth of groceries into two bags, go back to the car with them, get in, and drive home.
After putting away the groceries, I realise that I’ve left the clothes purchase in the car.
I go back out and get it.
Its now sitting on the table in its fancy bag – and frankly – I want nothing to do with it.
I know tomorrow or the day after all will be ok – and this little event will pass.
I know that no matter what I wear, our daughter will have a wonderful wedding, because she is marrying the man who has been her heart for over a decade – and he truely is a good man.
But right now – I still just feel absolutely sick to my stomach…
A bag full of angst!