My old roommate used to have a fashion crisis every time we went out.  Or rather, she’d have the crisis during the 30 minutes before we left the house, tearing through her closet, rejecting everything she tried on, and throwing all of the rejects onto the foot of the bed.  It got to be such a routine that we just scheduled it into part of the evening.  As in: "If we want to leave the house in an hour you should probably go ahead and have your fashion crisis now."

I had a fashion crisis tonight.  This is somewhat–though not entirely–atypical.  Usually I avoid such crises by buying one pair of designer jeans and wearing them until they literally fall apart. (Funny.  When I write "designer" jeans my mind flashes to Jordache from the 80′s.)  I’m also big into t-shirts, cardigans and cute sneakers.  If I go out at night I exchange the sneaks for boots and wear my "fancy" cardigan–which is black and thin and sort of luxurious–over a camisole. I also have a closet full of very pretty dresses, but as I discovered tonight, I’ve "outgrown" them all.  (At age 33 am I still allowed to say I’ve outgrown clothing?)

Most of my dresses are over six years old, bought during the year I first met Alan, when I was 26 about to turn 27.  One of those dresses he bought for me, for my 27th birthday,  this beautiful, light black silk thing that was handmade in San Francisco.  It is so gorgeous I can’t bear to give it away, even though I can no longer quite zip it up the side.  All of the dresses that hang in my closet are like that–just an inch or two out of reach, size wise.  (So close, yet so far away…)

The reason I’m currently freaking out about clothes is because I have my first book reading for Bound South this upcoming Monday night. It’s at the Margaret Mitchell house, and I think, since I grew up in this town and have made a lot of new friends here, I am going to get a good crowd.  I want to feel uber confident for the event, and what I wear, obviously, will contribute to my confidence level. 

But what can I say? Tonight I discovered that the only really nice thing I have to wear–that fits–is the fancy cardigan.

Oh well. Regardless of the sorry state of my closet I probably would have just worn that anyway.

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