I don't have to follow her
fashion advice, do I?
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Column # 213 My Twelve-Year-Old
Fashion Guru |
I don't have to follow her
fashion advice, do I? |
|
| Living the Life of Holly
“Ok.” My good friend, Ralph, paused at the entrance to the clothing store. “Whoever finds the best, colorful clothes wins.” His twelve-year-old daughter caught her breath. “What do we win?” Ralph gave his head a quick tilt to the right. “New clothes, of course.” I laughed. Not sure this was the kind of store that would bring out my competitive spirit. This clothing appeared to have two categories: Old-lady stodgy, and teen-mid drift. Sarah took off to the first clothing rack and started piling anything pink over her arm. “You better get going, or I’m going to win.” She called to us. Ralph headed over to the men’s side of the store which left me time to consider finding something wearable in the sea of sales. I picked up a black top from the rack. No. Too long. And the material felt like it would fall apart before the first wash. I considered a short denim coat, but put it back when I found holes in the seams. A sales lady approached me. “Do you have petit sizes?” I asked, holding a size fourteen shirt that had possibilities. “Of course,” she condescended as she turned a corner and motioned for me to follow. She stopped at a display of striped, old-lady tops. “We have a great variety,” she pointed to several racks of identical awfulness. When did petit come to mean ‘little-old-lady clothing?’ I picked up a knit top that would fall to mid thigh. It had teacups floating all over the surface, perhaps looking for somewhere to land. Yes. I’d tell Ralph I liked this laughable shirt just to get a rise out of him. I giggled my way to the dressing room. Before I was able to don the shirt, it was snatched away from me. “You like this?” Ralph held it up. “You’ve got to be kidding. Holly. This is the worst top in here.” Sarah, his twelve-year-old daughter looked from the floating teacups to my face. “Do you want to try on something I picked? Something more, you know, modern?” “Let’s have a little fun,” I insisted.
“When else could I wear flying teacups if not in this dressing room?” “Will you tell me how my clothes look on me?” Sarah asked. “Yupperie.” I sat on a bench by the door. Ralph used to have a sense of humor about clothes shopping. He once made me put on a white dress made entirely out of little puff balls, then dance around outside the dressing room of a big department store so he could watch the puffs slowly beat me up, while he laughed hysterically. He marched back and handed me a pair of white Capri pants with a thick pink belt. “Try this.” “You’re kidding.” I looked at the pants. They were for teens. Kids. Not for adults. There was probably one of those slashes somewhere on the tag forbidding anyone older than sixteen to wear them. “I’m too old for this.” Sarah stood next to her father. “Holly. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but sometimes you wear ‘old’ clothes.” Yeah. Well. She’s twelve. I’m thirty-nine. My clothes are supposed to look old, aren’t they? “Listen to Sarah and try these on,” He coaxed. “But…” I started. He threw his hands up in the air. “Listen to Sarah. Try. Them.” I resigned myself to my locked cubicle with a mirror and slowly changed my pants. So. They had planned this, hadn’t they? Father and daughter had planned a Holly-clothing intervention, in order to get me to wear more colorful clothes. They were tired of my black, brown, gray color palate. But. Those colors were me. I could be colorful while wearing drab colors, right? Zipping the pants was easy. Looking at them on me was hard. Oh. Ridiculous. Too tight. Too short. With great big cuffs. “I’m not a kid anymore.” I pouted, as I modeled for Ralph. His face softened. “They’re great.” “You like these?” Sarah called from behind me. “Perfect. Holly that’s what you should wear all the time.” “These are horrible. Are you two conspiring to make me buy horrible clothes?” “No.” Sarah mumbled. “You’ve been doing that yourself for quite some time.” Sarah handed me a pink top. “Try it.” “Pink? On me? Pink? You’re kidding.” She shook her head. “God, girl. Just try it on.” Didn’t boat necks go out years ago? A boat neck, light pink shirt. For me? For me? Pink-me exited to applause. I didn’t trust it. “You like this?” The attendant smiled brightly. “You look great.” “Don’t you think I’m too old for these clothes?” I asked a woman about my age as she pushed past me. She regarded me carefully. “They’re you.” I changed my clothes slowly. Yuck. If this was me, what was I going to do? Getting dressed was going to be a chore for the rest of my life. “You’ll be glad when you get home.” Ralph assured me after I paid. Sarah threw her clothes on the counter, but not before I spied the same pants with the wide belt and the same pink top on her pile. “Won’t it be great?” beamed my twelve-year-old fashion guru. “We’ll have the same clothes. We’ll be twins.” Note to self: Find a fashion guru your own age. Wanna try another column? How about #214 Don't Laugh, which is about going out dancing with Ralph. Um. Isn't there men out there? or Click here to go to Current Columns to pick another column. Or perhaps you would like to go to Column Finder by Subject to choose your next column about dating, or epilepsy or friends... you choose! Don't miss out! Sign up to receive a free copy of Holly's column via e-mail each week. (All e-mail addresses are private... NEVER, EVER shared.) Or send a blank e-mail to Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com Subject: Subscribe Me. Comment on this column in The Forum Or Send Holly your comments. Tell her what you really think! Your comments might be published on her website, or in her weekly Yahoo Group e-mail. Send Comments Wanna vote for your favorite column? Fan's favorite column picks will be added to the Fan's Favorite Five page. Send your pick for your favorite here. Fan's Favorite Column Pick Copyright © 2004 by Holly Winter |
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