Writing time. That is, after I change two back to back diapers. I wish I could say it’s a rare occurrence that I have to change a second diaper before I have even re-dressed the baby but it happens more often than I care to admit.
I was recently in a wedding party for Erin, one of my best friends. Trying to find time to write seems simple when I compare it to trying to find time to shop for a dress for her wedding. I emailed the details to her and two other best friends about one unsatisfactory outing.
Here I sit, exactly 1 week, four days before E’s big day.
I am on my couch in the buff, the cold leather creasing into my anal cavity. I’m just trying to figure out why clothing has become my worst enemy these past several months.
I took a very long, rainy drive to Mount Forest today to a store that I might describe as a large version of my Grandma H’s front hall closet. As the tears ran down my cheeks, I couldn’t help but choke out a giggle while I explained to the overzealous clerk that I was looking for a dress for my friend Erin’s wedding, who was going to be wearing red. The obviously commissioned sales granny attempted to shoo me into a change room with a frosted lime green, polyester dress, coupled with a jacket that might have been made out of plastic wrap, with some Velcro butterfly decals stuck all over it. I pretended that it wasn’t the most hideous piece of crap I had ever seen and refused to try it on by saying that I really did not care for the covered buttons. Not realizing of course that she was wearing the entire outfit that she was coaxing me into trying on–in fact, two of the silver fox employees in the store were wearing it. A coincidence that had me scanning for exits. I guess they get more money if they can force a stranger to buy whatever awful outfit they wore to work that day and if that’s the case, I give the elderly full kudos.
If that wasn’t bad enough, when I got home, my neighbours were out for a walk and invited the girls and myself down for a pizza for dinner. My husband was at a meeting and her husband was working late. I explained my hopeless dress situation and she quickly encouraged me to try on two of her favourites from her collection. Honestly, I don’t want to BORROW anyone’s hand-me-downs. There was a navy/purple one and there was a grey-ish one with circles. Both lovely, neither fit, but she desperately wanted me to love them.
I’ve got my large knitting needles, some old scarf-making thread, some macaroni noodles, crepe paper, frozen fish sticks and some alphabet magnets. I vow to you all that there will be no sleep tonight until I fashion a dress together.
I’ll be thinking of you in the wee hours when I am macramé-ing on my tic-tac detailing.