Monday, July 12, 2010
A shift...in priorities
You'd think I'd know by now to stop uttering "I'll never (fill in blank here)" because history keeps proving that the minute those words leave my mouth, I've pretty much sealed my doom: the very thing I've just sworn off is guaranteed to come to pass.
The latest example? Well, after a lifetime of mocking the easy-care common house dress, of poking fun at that humble housewife staple in all its simple glory, I'm suddenly the proud owner of just such an item.
It's not really a house dress. It's quite cute. I bought it because I was looking for a new summer robe and it fit the bill perfectly. Now, I bought it at KMart, not Macy's or Nordstrom or any of those more respected shops. But it was, after all, in the sleepwear department. (Although, in all fairness, there is no house dress department.) And the tag didn't say House Dress; it said Shift. So, it's not actually a house dress at all. It snaps up the front (I know, I know, snaps—does anyone use those anymore???) and it has polka dots and a little pan collar and it's kind of darling.
But in the recesses of my mind, I know it's a house dress. The baggy, undefined waist that frees me from sucking in the tummy, the big patch pockets in front, the snaps, and—a sure sign—the 50% cotton, 50% polyester blend all point me very clearly in the direction of the house dress.
In truth, I've decided to embrace the entire movement. I might even wear it outside to get the paper. Or to feed to birds. I haven't yet, but why not? It's sort of a strange blend of dress and robe; other people step outside in their fuzzy, belted post-bath gear and think nothing of it, so why not my fun, forgiving little dress of sorts? The scary thing is that I can foresee this sort of fashion faux pas becoming a regular part of my wardrobe in a few years. It's part of the natural progression, you see. First my high heels went by the wayside, then any shoes with laces, then my pants with real waistbands, then the shirts that required tucking... All that's left, really, is my final descent into one-piece, shapeless muumuus that either zip or snap (buttons will be far too much work by then).
If I get to that point, I suppose I'll need to acquire a truckload of cats, and perhaps a whole lot of mothballs. I'm not there yet, but it's good to have a plan, you know?