My Contribution to Society

I am all dressed up: skirt, fancy top, heels, accessories. No pantyhose; I've already shared that I do not wear those unless it is really cold — which, fortunately, it rarely is in Houston.

Why the chic attire? I went out on an interview today, meeting with the president of the Cy-Fair Chamber of Commerce. And it's a good thing I dressed as I did, as she mentioned the other reps from the magazine she had met and pointed out how they always looked classy.

If only she could see me in my normal, everyday get-up ...

When Alison was little, she wore only dresses. Which was interesting, because I don't get all dressed up around the house. I prefer jeans or shorts. I don't always wear tennis shoes, but sometimes I do. And Alison was all about dresses. She wanted to be "pretty." In fact, she had to have skirts or dresses with big skirts that would "go out" when she danced. She refused to wear pants. Ever. Even when she went to sport day in Germany, she wore a skirt. Around mid-first grade she did a total 180, preferring jeans and Tshirts for years. She's hit a middle ground now, wearing dresses and skirts on occasion. The other two were more moderate all along, knowing that there were times that jeans were simply more practical.

Truth is, I like to get dressed up. I love to shop, love to wear all my outfits. This is part of the reason I have a job. (Well, that and the fact that I need some purpose in life; when all your children are in school all day and you have no social life, there has to be a reason to get up and get moving. Mine is now deadlines.) Only going out every week or so has worked well for me. When I was at the paper in Lafayette, I got into sort of a rut and felt like I wore those same black pants to work four days out of five.

So, now that I only get dressed up on occasion — which does not really include church, where most members of my congregation wear the UUniform: cargo shorts, T-shirt with some sort of liberal religion slogan, and Tevas — I can concentrate on really looking fabulous on those days. Not sure I would say "fabulous" was the word of the day, but I think I did OK.

So what is the sign that one has too many shoes? When you can't find a pair you're sure you have? After digging through all the boxes (in the interest of discretion, or modesty, I won't reveal the actual number of said boxes) not once, but twice, I was about ready to give up. But I did find them. And I was so pleased to see that they matched my skirt (a taupe/stone color) perfectly. In fact, it was like getting new shoes — they will go with so many things.

OK. So, the interview went well. So, since I was out and about, I made a stop at the Container Store to replace my apothecary jar (used for bathroom storage) that I broke this weekend while tidying the bathroom. (That'll teach me to clean, huh?)

But first, feeling that my home shoe selection is inadequate, and since I was on 1960 anyway, I made a run to DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse, for the uninitiated). I found a pair of black shoes (loafer-type) for fall, to replace the ones I've been wearing and watching wear out since 2000. But the best news is, not only did I find a pair I like, I found three other pair that would have worked just as well. I did limit my purchase to one ... and one pair of sand-colored heels (yes, sand; read the box). And a pair of red and black Converse for Alison's birthday.

And, since I was out, I made a run to Ann Taylor. I'll spare you the details; suffice it to say, I did moderate damage. And realized that I now need new navy shoes. Which, I'm sure, can be arranged.

My day of retail therapy being over, it was now time to come home, join real life, and meet the school bus. So I made the transition from career woman to mom, supervising snack time and homework. Rescheduled gymnastics, checked on music lessons, read e-mail, returned phone calls.

I haven't changed clothes yet. I'm not sure I'm done being pretty. But I'm going to. I am going to take off my tiara and return the pretend dress-up clothes to the closet where they belong. Even wearing jeans, it's still possible to dance.