Yesterday I went shopping by myself after work. My sister told me there were Rocket Dog shoes on sale at Montehiedra's Marshalls store, so I had to go and check that out (I'm a hardset fan of Rocket Dogs, they're so comfy! ^_^).
But no luck was to be had on that mission. There were Rocket Dogs alright: ugly, ill-fitting affairs (are they really Rocket Dogs?), or not in my size. So I started browsing around and headed for the purse area. A few weeks ago my messenger bag purse suffered its "demise" along with a shirt I held as a favorite (they were both drenched in earthy water that sprayed out of the A/C console of the office's trolley van. I looked like a ladybug for the rest of the day).
The bags I liked right off the bat surprised me with very steep price tags ($100+, damned be leather and it's powerful, attractive smell and feel!!!). I took my very sweet time shopping around, comparing, sweating it out. My brother called me in the middle of it all, and I realized I was shopping like my mother shops, with the only difference that I wasn't inflicting anybody else with the pain of it. I'm definitely a slow shopper. I finally decided myself on a red, crocheted bag from The Sak (It even has a metal tag that assures me that it is "The Original" ... how comforting! 8-D )
After that, I decided, halfway to the register counter, that I might as well change my wallet too. It had been years since I had last bought a new wallet. 'Kitty wallet' (a small, black wallet with Emily Strange's black cat patched on top) was running small on me, I don't know why. It's not like I applied for a thousand new credit cards all of a sudden, but it wasn't buttoning up as well as it should have. So I got an indigo-colored, leather Tignanello wallet (damned be leather!).
The whole purchase amounted up to a bit over $50. I'm still a bit weirded out at myself. My brother kept telling me it was weird seeing me with a purse. And so it is! I've been holding onto my college buying-and-wearing habits, I think out of fear of turning into a corporate, suit-wearing zombie lady. Yeah, the one that buys The Sak handbags and Tignanello wallets, I think. But I feel strangely fine about all this, because what I thought it represented is not gonna happen anyway.
Yesterday I ran into an old college aqcuaintance, and I realized that in spite of the 8 years past, I am still the same garbled mess of a person I was back then (albeit fatter ... or more pregnant-looking, thank you ¬_¬). And I like it that way, but at the same time my instincts tell me that it's time to grow up into the woman my mother and stepmother have been nudging me to be. I suspect I might turn out to be a garbled, messy version of that, but I'm fine with that too.
I'm beginning to feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin (sagginess and cellulitis included), and oddly enough the crocheted, red handbag that now hangs from my shoulder, with the indigo, leather wallet inside it are proof to myself that ... precisely ... I don't need to prove anything to anyone other than myself. And that I can give myself permission to be as "adult" as I've always feared to be (lest I start growing old, god forbid!) ... of course, in my own, particular ... idiom. (thank you, sweet Concorde! :-D)
