What Shall I Wear?

The days leading up to the first date are frantic for me.

I go through a whole range of emotions, not unlike the stages of Grief.

Disbelief - This is never going to happen. He's going to cancel.

Rejection - I can tell just by talking to him that this is never going to work out. I hope he cancels.

Paranoia - If I don't find the perfect outfit, I may just cancel.

Grooming - I will never have time to get my eyebrows waxed and touch up my roots and do something with my nails so that I don't look like I work in Agriculture. I should just cancel.

But I plod on with the help of my kids. Odd source of help. They weren't around to help me negotiate these curves when I was dating in my teens and twenties. I wonder how that would have changed things. There is a TV show in there somewhere.

Pat is a champion promoter. Always quick to tell me that I am hilarious. That I am the most beautiful Mom at the Mall. That I need to do something about my roots before I leave the house again.

Hil is the master of image. A fashionista that understands that clothes tell a story. I can ask her advice on any outfit for any occasion. We are both fans of the show What Not To Wear (which when I'd first heard of it I thought was something entirely different. I thought someone had begun a reality TV show about Lars' mother)

So Hil and I plan on a shopping trip. I need to buy the requisite 14 outfits for the date. Prepare for anything. Secure enough options so that I can change my mind every day between now and then.

Her advice to me is to find pieces that make me look fabulous. That flatter all the parts that need flattering. Conceal the flaws. An outfit that says that I am confident. An outfit that looks effortless. An outfit that makes me look my absolute best without screaming that I am trying too hard. Desperation is not a good color on anyone.  I wouldn't even want to whisper that.

But between the clothes I can no longer look at because of their connection to Scott, and the clothes that no longer fit because I've angsted off 10 pounds because of Scott, and the need to change my stripes because of Scott, I am in a quandary.

So early one Saturday, Hil and I, armed with Starbucks and a couple of store coupons and a pile of cash and credit cards, head out on a spree like no other. The Shop-a-holics better bring their A game.  Hil and Liza are in the house.