Today is a hot one. I decided to get out of the attic studio for the afternoon and go shopping.
I went to the mall. I left empty-handed.
I once heard that Central Pennsylvania is an Alabama between two New Yorks. I think that Alabama was insulted. At least retail-wise. There just aint nothin' here.
Unless you are a teenage hooker. Or a buffet-binging octogenarian. I don't know with which group to classify myself. I'm a few decades off in either direction. Should I choose the sequined mini-skirt or the tropical-flowered teepee? And what to do with my hair? Straighten it and let my long locks hang in my face or cut it short and get that light blue curly perm?
Perhaps I just don't fit my central PA demographic. If a woman has hit the age of forty (and dared to go beyond), she apparently no longer has a waist. Perhaps because now that's where her boobs are. She should want everything to stretch and be cantaloupe-colored.
I know, I know. Try mail order. I have. I'm the reason that UPS is still in business. Packages come in. I try things on. I scream. I head out to UPS to return. I try again. And again.
There are two solutions:
1. Nudity. pros: cheap. cons: illegal in most places, works only in warm months.
2. Try the look shown above. What could I have to lose. It's a smart look with shades.
I see myself as an artist. Others see me as a housewife. Too often, I see the glass as half-full. With a crack in it. I am usually a quiet, shy person. This is the place where I can be my inner, not-so-quiet self.
This blog is for entertainment (mostly mine) purposes only. If you find a mistake, falsehood, or blatant lie, please feel free to inform me, ever so gently, of my error.