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Shopping 'Till I Drop Won't Take Long

B's youngest sister is getting married in two weeks down in Anchor Point.

If you think that Homer is too small with it's 5,000 residents, then Anchor Point isn't even worth your time or energy. But I have to be careful with the Anchor Point bashing because my in-laws live there, as do Heidi's family. And while I'm not too terribly afraid of B's family, Heidi's family scares me.

I've known about this wedding for ages now. I've requested the appropriate time off from work, scribbled and added it to my digital and wall calendars, but that is all of the thinking I had done with it.

Until two short days ago when I realized I didn't have a thing to wear.

I had pulled out the nice dress I wore to a wedding last year, and the dress? Totally didn't fit. I knew I had lost weight, have been continuing to lose weight, but I just assumed... what, that my body was still the same size? That the dress would magically shrink as I did?

One cannot apply logic to the subjects of weight and body image and dress sizes. It is unpossible.

I tossed the dress into a bag bound for the Salvation Army and forced myself into a Real Live Store for some shopping.

Because, see, when God made me he mixed up a few things with my genetics. Or maybe there was too much testosterone from my four older brothers soaked into every molecule of my parents' house when they brought me home from the hospital.

Whatever cause might be to blame, the effects are unavoidable: I hate shopping.

But I forced myself to go out and look for something that most likely had a skirt and wasn't too dressy or formal because, hello? An Anchor Point wedding in my in-laws' back yard does not require an evening gown.

I was overdressed at my uncle's funeral in black slacks and a tailored black button down shirt. I could probably show up in clean Carhartts and a wife beater and not be out of place.

I eased into this shopping foray by starting at the thrift store, knowing ahead of time it was not the place to start, and found absolutely nothing that didn't make me laugh or cringe (or both) at myself.

Dark brown velvet with bell sleeves and a rope belt from the 70s! Loudly printed thick, suffocating polyester from the 60s! Teal ruffles from the 80s! Some of the pieces would be better served as pillows and purses than dresses.

After years of thrift store and garage sale shopping with Beth, she has beaten me into adopting the motto that It Can't Hurt To Try It On Yes, I Know It Is Has Pink Lace And Tassels And Is Dog Ugly On The Rack But You Don't Have To Buy It.

Which, in the practical world of clothing racks and skinny sales associates who have to unlock the dressing room door five times for me because I'm only allowed to take three items in at a time, means I try on 15 different dresses and skirts and tops and don't like a single thing.

That Carhartts and wife beater idea doesn't sound too bad.