Just Four Musical Notes

I was having a “feeling frumpy” day.  My hair kept heading off in directions known only to ancient gods and winged animals, my Spanx groaned as I pulled them up and made a snarky comment about “only being able to do so much,” and my freshly painted fingernails, barely dry, hosted multiple dings, smears, and chips.  (Life lesson #76: Don’t attempt to pull on Spanx for a minimum of three days after painting fingernails.)

Searching through the closet, I slapped the hangers along the rod with blistering speed.  No. No. No. Oh heck no.  Surely there had to be something I could wear that would counteract my mood and appearance.  A denim dress stopped my closet assault, and I pulled it out for a closer inspection.

A few weeks prior I had purchased the dress from eShakti.  If you’re not familiar with this company I highly recommend a look-see.  Not only do they sell rather retro-styled items—which I adore—but they will customize many of their styles for the small fee of 7 or 8 dollars.  For instance, not too long ago I bought a red silk dress from them.  It was on sale, and, I believe the promo code included free customization.  I asked eShakti to remove the sleeves, deepen the V-neck, and lengthen the hem to below the knee.  As I remember the final cost was something like $69.  Sweet.

Anyway, back to my frumpzilla day …

I had not worn the denim dress yet.  In fact, I had not even tried it on.  When it arrived in the mail I hung it in the closet and trusted it would fit and look fine.  I’m crazy like that.  Or, heavily in denial.  Probably the latter because the dress was a style I don’t usually gravitate towards.  My hourglass body goes mega-matronly with the least provocation, so I try to avoid fussy details.  I also tend not to wear above the knee length skirts and dresses because my legs are not that great.  That said, this dress has an A-line pleated skirt, is above the knee in length, and boasts gold buttons that strain just a wee bit against my rib melons.

I looked in the mirror and frowned.  I turned right and left, caught a view of my backside, and frowned some more.  Frumpy.  Who was I kidding?  The day belonged to the frumpy fairies.  Just as I debated finding something else to wear my husband popped into the room, gave me one of those head to toe oogles, and declared, “Nice dress!  But don’t wear those sandals you are holding.”  Huh.

I swapped out the flat sandals for gold colored wedges and threw a gold-flecked scarf around my shoulders.  With a dedicated squint I looked frumpy, but coordinated.  Coordi-frumpy. Much better.  Not.  My husband and I headed off for church and errands.

Shortly after our arrival at church a gentleman greeted me with, “What a lovely scarf you are wearing.”  I smiled and rejoiced in the fact that he was looking at my shoulders and not my billowy butt.

After church I went into the grocery store to pick up a few items while my husband stayed in the car and read the Sunday paper.  As I pushed the cart up the aisle in search of cat treats, a woman came up alongside of me.  “You look really pretty.”  I stopped, puzzled and unsure if she really meant me.  She laughed.  “You don’t know me.  But I wanted to tell you I think you look really pretty.”  I ducked my head and said, “Thank you,” but I was wondering where the prank cameras were.

After tossing several bags of cat treats into the cart (Pudgy has needs.  NEEDS!), I veered into the produce aisle.  Reaching for a bag of organic carrots, I noted a man staring at me.  He was about a foot away.  “Hiiiii,” he said, drawing out the word for too long to be pure of thought.  He smiled and boldly stared at those aforementioned gold buttons.  “Hi,” I said and looked away.  Yep, just buying carrots.  Orange organic carrots. La la la…minding my own business.

Just at that moment a teenage boy, heavily laden with produce boxes, ambled up to me.  “Nice dress!”  My confusion grew as this day got stranger and stranger.  “Thank you,” I stuttered.  “No, I mean REALLY nice dress.”  He nodded his head in beat to his words.

I was in the Twilight Zone.  Seriously.  After paying for my groceries I hoisted the bags and started walking across the parking lot.  We were parked at the far end, although I could see my husband’s head bent over the paper as he read and waited.  Just about the time I reached the halfway point, a man closed the trunk of his vehicle and looked up at me.  His head tilted a little, and with the tiniest hesitation he said, “Hiiiiiiii.”

What the ????  Maybe I need to rethink how frumpy works for me.  What would a few pink sponge curlers in my hair do to drive the men crazy?  And, and, if I really want to be a vamp perhaps I can slither into a stained sweatshirt and pilled stretch pants.  Cue the Twilight Zone music.  Do do do do, do do do do…