Skirt Rainbow
A couple of weeks ago, I went to a thrift store, casually browsing for various things, such as bookshelves and skirts, particularly an orange one to complete my skirt rainbow, so I can cross it off my birthday goal list.
The bookshelves were not a success; neither were wall shelves. So I scouted out the skirt aisle, hoping something long and orange would catch my eye. I started at the size 0's (which I am not) and moved up from there. (Many of my best skirts have been categorized as much larger than my size at thrift stores, simply because of a drawstring, so I more or less ignore categorization).
As I reached the end of the aisle, where another customer browsed, I thought it was yet another day of skirt-rainbow defeat. But just beyond some shorter skirts, I saw a long, uneven scrap of orange dangling down.
MINE! my brain screamed in my head. It's my skirt! That's the one!
At that point, I didn't even know if it would fit, let alone what the rest of it looked like. But some part of me insisted that was the one.
But the customer who was browsing stood directly between me and my newest skirt. In fact, she stood right in front of it. And she stood there. And stood there.
After what must have been three hours, I nearly started jumping up and down in circles and making a high-pitched whine. But I am, after all, supposedly an adult. So I only did so in my mind, taking out my sudden excess-energy by pacing down the aisle and looking at other skirts with no interest whatsoever, my mind entirely on the creamsicle beauty maniacally guarded by the sloth-ish skirt seeker.
In my pacing, I did come across another beautiful skirt, which I ended up purchasing later. But as I turned, hoping to head back to the end of the aisle, sure that at least a full day must have passed by now, I saw that she was still there.
She was looking at two skirts, just two, and apparently they were the smartest, most beguiling creatures on this planet, because she kept comparing the two, wondering which one to put in her cart (if any), admiring the texture of one, then another.
I started wondering what the chances were that aliens had come to Earth in the form of inanimate objects, trying to control the population unnoticed, just to tick me off. I swear to you, I almost pitched a fit in the middle of the store.
At long last, she chose one and moved on her way. (It was only then I became convinced she didn't want my orange skirt.) It was probably only five minutes that she actually stood there, but it felt like an apocalyptic eternity.
Upon finally reaching my newest skirt, I saw that my instincts were right. It was very much my style, with an uneven hem, a swirly trail of knitted threads, and a spattering of gold sequins to top it off. But there was a small hole in the back, which I could easily fix, so I asked the clerk about a discount. I received it, and paid only $4 for the creamsicle beauty.
Check it out.
The best part? I've completed my rainbow.
Looks like something out of Dr. Seuss's brain.
So far, that completes approximately 7 of my 25 goals. Next up: kendo lessons.
The bookshelves were not a success; neither were wall shelves. So I scouted out the skirt aisle, hoping something long and orange would catch my eye. I started at the size 0's (which I am not) and moved up from there. (Many of my best skirts have been categorized as much larger than my size at thrift stores, simply because of a drawstring, so I more or less ignore categorization).
As I reached the end of the aisle, where another customer browsed, I thought it was yet another day of skirt-rainbow defeat. But just beyond some shorter skirts, I saw a long, uneven scrap of orange dangling down.
MINE! my brain screamed in my head. It's my skirt! That's the one!
At that point, I didn't even know if it would fit, let alone what the rest of it looked like. But some part of me insisted that was the one.
But the customer who was browsing stood directly between me and my newest skirt. In fact, she stood right in front of it. And she stood there. And stood there.
After what must have been three hours, I nearly started jumping up and down in circles and making a high-pitched whine. But I am, after all, supposedly an adult. So I only did so in my mind, taking out my sudden excess-energy by pacing down the aisle and looking at other skirts with no interest whatsoever, my mind entirely on the creamsicle beauty maniacally guarded by the sloth-ish skirt seeker.
In my pacing, I did come across another beautiful skirt, which I ended up purchasing later. But as I turned, hoping to head back to the end of the aisle, sure that at least a full day must have passed by now, I saw that she was still there.
She was looking at two skirts, just two, and apparently they were the smartest, most beguiling creatures on this planet, because she kept comparing the two, wondering which one to put in her cart (if any), admiring the texture of one, then another.
I started wondering what the chances were that aliens had come to Earth in the form of inanimate objects, trying to control the population unnoticed, just to tick me off. I swear to you, I almost pitched a fit in the middle of the store.
At long last, she chose one and moved on her way. (It was only then I became convinced she didn't want my orange skirt.) It was probably only five minutes that she actually stood there, but it felt like an apocalyptic eternity.
Upon finally reaching my newest skirt, I saw that my instincts were right. It was very much my style, with an uneven hem, a swirly trail of knitted threads, and a spattering of gold sequins to top it off. But there was a small hole in the back, which I could easily fix, so I asked the clerk about a discount. I received it, and paid only $4 for the creamsicle beauty.
Check it out.
The best part? I've completed my rainbow.
Looks like something out of Dr. Seuss's brain.
So far, that completes approximately 7 of my 25 goals. Next up: kendo lessons.
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