Last night I realized that I really wanted to buy a new outfit for the wedding that I'm going to on Friday and my work holiday party in two weeks.
First I went to Common Era. This is a store on Pearl street that Sarah and I lovingly refer to as "our store." I just couldn't seem to find anything that would work for me.
I took off and headed a little farther down the street, to Abercrombie.
Again, nothing there that said sleek, sophisticated, ready to be given a raise because the wearer of this garment is a surprisingly capable (and still incredibly trendy) engineer.
I left the store feeling dejected. As though the entire fashion industry had cast me off and left me out in the cold like the little match girl.
Then, to my right a beacon of hope caught my eye.
Oh sweet banana republic, where the sweaters are so soft and the pants hit just right.
I entered the store on a cloud of pure euphoria. It seemed as though I was carried around the store on a pink cloud of delight. Everywhere I looked there were beautiful things leaping out at me, craving to become members of my every multiplying wardrobe.
After minutes of luxurious rapture in the dressing room I was brought to a standstill.
I realized that Christmas is coming, and while the goose may be getting fat, my bank account is not. It always seems that the whole year long I have total freedom to spend my money like a maniac, but when the festive season comes around those disposable funds seems to dry up. Perhaps they go into hibernation, or fly south to escape the cold, but either way they seem to be non-existent just when I need them most.
Anyway, in a brilliant stroke of self-control I managed to leave the store empty handed, but with an odd sense of peace. I knew that I wasn't the ostracized fashion victim, but a conscious objector to the whole scene.
That knowledge made me smile as I walked back past Abercrombie and the Common Era because, well, I knew.
And knowing is half the battle.