Let’s start this month with some humor…
I’ve been asked to write about shoes. And I want to write about shoes. I have some great shoes. Sexy, over the knee, leather boots and a pair of cowboy kickers, buckin’ bronc on the side and just ready for the dance floor. I have a pair of killer red heels that only mean one thing and a pair of Donna Karan booties that I bought in the 1980’s that still work their magic. I have some great shoes.
I am sitting here, in my chair, at my desk, in embarrassment. A little bit of perplexed disgrace.
I have – I mean I am – trying to embrace this whole, no clutter, live sparingly chatter that is everywhere you wander these days.
What better place to do this than in your closet?
When I brought out my winter clothes this fall, I gave myself a no-nonsense lecture.
“Ok. Let’s just try and get rid of some of these items this year, shall we?”, I said with all the seriousness of my first boss, when she told me to head to the Capitol, hand out the information on our legislation, and do not answer any questions.
I lifted each piece up, eyed it for wine stains, food particles and animal hair. If it passed that test, I eyed it for fitness. To lazy, to try it on, I imaginatively, guessed. I remembered the last time I wore that item. Did I feel good in it? Did it do me justice? Was it still a keeper?
With diligence and determination, I culled the pile of cold weather garments. I was tough – okay I wasn’t that tough – but by the end of picking through this pile I had three big bags of rejected clothing. And not all of them had stains on them.
Then thinking about a great cashmere sweater, I had seen at the local boutique, I thought I should bring some of these pieces up to the consignment store and get some cash! Wow, I had all motors running this weekend!
So, I culled again and pulled out those items I thought looked perfect for the consignment store. Black leather biker jacket. Crisp, white blouse with the tag still on it. (I knew I should have returned it, when I bought it…oh well.)
I took my sweats off, put on my jeans, looked to see if I needed to brush my teeth, (no) and drove up to the consignment store with my bags full of cash – I mean clothes.
The tinkle of the bell hanging above the door announced my arrival, and the gal at the front, put together in designer jeans and forest green top, looked up. Already working with a customer, she asked if I could wait a few minutes before she could look at my items.
I placed my bags down and started to browse through her items. I looked at her leather jackets and I just knew mine was going to be a fast seller.
I glanced at the time on my phone to see if I would have time to swing by that store and buy that sweater.
I saw her from the corner of my eye, pick up the first bag. Jackpot! She picked up that leather biker jacket first! Then the cute, black car coat with its fun little belt. I saw my black velvet, mini skirt, lifted and assessed. That skirt had been hard to part with, after all, velvet was back in style. But, I had culled it!
Bag one done, on to bag two. Same quick assessment. Same no-nonsense attitude.
“Alright,” she said, “I don’t think any of this is will work for our store.”
“Oh,” I said. An upward lilt to that word. “Okay.”
I gathered my bags and tail between my legs, fumbled out the door. Bell above tinkling madly.
“What the hell?” I said to myself back in the safety of my car. “The white blouse had the tag on it!”
“Who doesn’t need a crisp, white blouse?”
I mentally, went through each item in those bags. Remembering again where I had worn it. The good feeling that (most) of them had given me at the time.
“What the heck?”
I had style. I had panache. I could work a room in these clothes! By god, I had once repped a clothing line. I was not dimwitted when it came to stylish garments!
But, my clothes had been rejected. Humiliated. Thrown off the counter and back in the bag. I felt like a scorned girlfriend. I had blushed at that counter! I felt rebuffed. Maybe I should have brushed my teeth, I looked in the rear-view mirror.
I looked at that dejected black leather biker jacket and thought, “Maybe, I should just keep it.”
“Make it work,” as Tim Gunn, on “Project Runway”, would say.
But no, I am supposed to be decluttering. Making my life simpler.
I called my friend.
“Have you ever been rejected at the consignment store?”
She laughed at my story. Felt my pain. She was just trying internet dating for the first time and rejection by the consignment store sounded a little bit more enjoyable.
So now, I am sitting in my chair, at my desk, with the hope to write about my amazing shoes. But sitting behind me our bags of rejection.
Life is a balance, isn’t it?! Rejection. Approval.
Some things work out. Some things don’t. Not everything is simple.
So, feet on the floor, shoulders back and onward.
Okay, let me think about my shoes.
You know what? They are fabulous!