Who ever would have thought old clothes would be laden with new surprises?
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Living the Life of Holly |
Column # 190: Wear
More Orange |
Who ever would have thought old clothes would be laden with new surprises? |
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| Living the Life of Holly By Holly Winter © 2004 Wear More Orange “You can wait outside.” The saleswoman said to Cool-guy. “There’s chairs out there for men.” My boyfriend quickly forgot his mission. “Ok.” He turned to leave. “No. No way.” I held his arm tightly. “You’re not leaving. Are you kidding?” He turned towards the saleslady. Who did she think she was? I was ready to scratch her eyes out. “He doesn’t HAVE to leave, does he?” “No.” She said. “But men don’t like to shop in women’s consignment shops.” “He’s different.” I said, pulling him inside. “But, he won’t like it.” She said. “We don’t sell men’s clothes.” “He different.” I insisted. “He loves shopping for me.” “Do you mean ‘good different’ or ‘bad different?” Cool-guy asked as I positioned him in front of the first rack of clothes. I couldn’t answer him. Used clothes. Really? Could this be? Under twelve dollars each? For designer clothes? This was the gold mine I had hoped for. “Come on, honey. I need your help. You know I do.” “Why?” He asked, eying the comfortable chairs out front. “You know you’re better at picking out colors. I need you…...” “Yeah.” He said, reaching one hand out. He haphazardly pulled five shirts off the rack. “Try these on.” “Wow.” I flipped through the shirts. Browns, blacks. A blue. Great cut. Short. Nice neck line. “How’d you do that so fast?” He laughed, warming up a bit. “Now. What exactly do you need for your new job, Ms. School-teacher?” “Clothes. Teaching clothes. Conservative but not dowdy. Skirts that aren’t so short. Shirts that aren’t so tight.” “Ok, Ms. Dowdy. Let’s see.” He started picking through clothing. “How about this?” “Cats? You think I’d wear a red shirt with black cats all over it?” “Little kids like cats. Try it on.” “Oh. God. No.” I said. I refused to even touch the shirt. That was the kind of clothing I hated. Sure lots of elementary school teachers taught in such things. But. Um. Not me. He pushed the shirt into my chest. “Do I have to?” I whined. “It’s really awful.” “Yes.” He dug around some more. “Go try it. And this stripped one, too. Now. Go. And I don't want to hear any complaining out of you.” I held up the neon shirt. “Complaining? No way. I’m sure you’d love to take me out in this so you could laugh at all the people laughing at me for wearing it.” I’ve always been a terrible shopper. Oh. Sure. I have an eye for style. As long as the trend is plain and black I’m all over it. I’m from New York where you can wear black on black with black shoes and be considered a fashion plate. I haven’t gotten used to adding color to my fashion palate yet. “Here.” He said, handing me a short, orange skirt. “Maybe you can’t wear this teaching, but you can sure wear it for me.” Oh. Sure. I got an armful of new-old clothes that day that would double what I could wear to my new job. As for that little orange skirt? Well. Once I got it home, I decided it was cute and colorful, certainly a new addition to my closet. I decided to wear it to a meeting downtown. I checked myself in the mirror and congratulated myself for being smart enough to take Cool-guy shopping with me. He really did have good taste, didn’t he? I parked the car and walked towards my Toastmaster’s meeting. Men were stopping to check me out. What? Were men that into the color orange? I couldn’t believe it. I arrived at the office building where the meeting was to be held. Men everywhere were staring at my new skirt. Hello? Was everyone in Denver aware that I had finally gone shopping? After my meeting I ran through the grocery store, the post office and the bank. Everywhere I went I became a staring post. Ok. Maybe I need to wear colors more often? I could do that. I didn’t always have to wear black, right? Do colors really look that good? Do women always get noticed when they wear the color orange? I held my head up high and met those stares with smiles. Ok. I can take a hint. Wear more orange. When I got home I regarded my reflection in the mirror. I sure had gotten a lot of attention. I turned and checked out the skirt from the back. What was that? Half way down. A bit of color. I reached down to brush it off. It didn’t go away. I shook the skirt a bit. No. Oh no. I turned and checked the skirt from the front. There was that bit of color on the front too. I tried to brush it off. No good. It wasn’t going anywhere. Why hadn’t I noticed that red and black before? The color was there. Blaring out. Red and black stripes. On my orange skirt. Oh God, no. It was my underwear showing through. The skirt wasn’t see-through, but, in the right light it was sheer. No wonder I had gotten all that attention. Those men weren’t noticing the skirt. They weren’t noticing that I had finally stepped out in a bit of color, either. They were noticing my underwear peeking through the thin material. Great. Oh. Great. Oh. Man. Perhaps that’s why the skirt had been sold to begin with? I mean. The woman who sold it might have pinned a little note in there. You know. About the skirt being sheer. A sort of warning label. “Warning: Wear lace when wearing this skirt.” So. When Cool-guy said I could wear that skirt for him…. He knew it was sheer. He knew it was sheer. I called him. “You let me wear a sheer skirt downtown?” “YOU WORE THAT OUT?” “WHY DIDN”T YOU TELL ME?” He knew? He knew? He knew! “YOU WORE THAT OUT? SWEET!” He laughed. “Did anyone notice?” He laughed harder. I let him laugh. “Honey.” “What.” “You know those chairs out in front of that consignment shop?” “What about them?” “Men can’t be trusted buying clothes for women. Next time….. you’re in the chair.”
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