I’ve determined that I might not really be a woman. This revelation came to me yesterday and I just had to share.
It had been a few days since I’d left the house other than to get my daughter to school and back. I’d had a great lunch at The Corner Bakery on Monday with The Writing Women—some friends who write and now we get together every other Monday to eat, talk, discuss writing and occasionally chat about ourselves. Just occasionally. It’s sort of like therapy without all that annoying advice on how you should change.
Tuesday—stayed in. Wednesday—stayed in. Then on Thursday I had a few chores nagging that just had to be done. Blockbuster called. Where are our movies? Fine. I’m coming. The shoes I’d ordered online for my daughter needed to be returned. (The website cautioned that they ran large. Well, gargantuan might have been more accurate.) And then my mom called. She’d been looking for a particular piece of fabric and found one at my local store. Could I run by and look at it for her? Then buy it? Then mail it? Sure. I was just on my way out…
So, I showered, pulled on a skirt and T-shirt, slid into some sandals, said good-bye to the confused dog, and away I went. I ran my errands and then thought, While I’m already out… I poked my head into a consignment shop and took a look around. Came out with a Beatles T-shirt for my son. (Abbey Road—he loved it.) Then went in another shop to see if they had any clothes for my growing daughter. Sorted through racks and racks of black, glitter, and sequins and managed to find three dresses that didn’t scream, “Hey I’m five and already a trampy whore!”
No, I’m not a good shopper. Therefore, probably not a real woman. I don’t mind going out with my girlfriends on our annual weekend out, but shopping once a year does not a woman make me. And on those trips I usually end up buying stuff I wouldn’t if I were alone. Peer pressure? At my age? I guess. It would explain the I Had a Nightmare I Was a Blonde T-shirt currently hanging in my closet.
Grocery shopping? Only the worst chore there is, or maybe a close second to cleaning the bathroom. Shopping online? That I can do but I don’t do a lot of it. (Not like my neighbor who brings the UPS truck to our street almost daily.) Because you never know if the stuff you buy is going to fit. And then you find yourself having to shower, having to get dressed, having to leave the house, having to go to the post office to return it. And that’s almost as bad as going out shopping.