A Shiksa on a Mission

Balaboosta (n.)(bah-lah-b00-sta) A Yiddish term meaning the perfect housewife
I'm a shiksa on a mission...
It may not be perfection but it's the journey that counts

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Vestido, No?




Reg and I are heading to Mexico at the end of the month for our friends' wedding. I can't tell you how big this is to us because this is our first real vacation in some time. We're actually going to a place where no relatives live while our beautiful little beasties are back home in Portland with my mother. Do you understand the significance of this momentous occasion? I think it warrants a new dress. On my To Do List is to get a dress to wear to the wedding. My criteria is simple:

1. Fabulous dress
2. Perfect fit
3. Weather suitable
4. Costs next to nothing

That's all. Should be no problem. So I head over to Buffalo Exchange with my friend to look for dresses. I think I tried on about 100 dresses much to the chagrin of the devastatingly hip sales clerk. Eventually I tried on a hot pink number and my friend gasped that it was perfect. I mean, come on, it made my friend gasp. And she wanted it for herself. Score! That wasn't even on my list of criteria but inspiring jealousy is just a given, right? Now I will admit that the dress was a little shorter than I usually go for but I was feeling like the trip and the wedding and the lack of my children warranted a little walk on the wild side. So I bought it.

When I got home, I decided to try it on again to determine just how short it was with the shoes I might wear. You know how you wish something to be different by changing something completely unrelated. Like finding the perfect heels is suddenly going to make the dress seem the perfect length. But it's my new precious and I'm giddily excited about it. Then my excitement fades as I lift the tag to read "Blouse." It's a shirt. It's not a dress. It's surely not just a short dress. And it's painfully obvious that no amount of footwear magic is going to change that fact. About 10 minutes later, Reggie calls me from work.

Reg: Did you find a dress?
Me: A dress?
Reg: I think that's a yes.
Me: It depends on what your definition of dress is.

So I tell me that when he gets home, I'll show him my "purchase." I should really apologize to him for that as I'm sure I left him feeling more than a little anxious. Like maybe I didn't get a dress but I did buy a new car. Late that night when he finally got home after the kids were in bed, I tried on the dress to show him. Before I go on, I have to say that he has come a long way in terms of facial reactions and anything that has to do with me or my appearance. If he doesn't like the latest hair color I'm sporting, he has a tendency to say things like I think you always look beautiful which is so much better than his former responses like I thought you looked better before. You see the subtle difference? It's tricky. And it's a skill that needs practice and training. When I come out to the living room, he plasters on his smile says that it's very cool and very short.

Me: Is it too short?
Reg: It's shorter than you usually wear.

See? He's good. So I tell him the story and right as I say what was written on the tag, he announces that it's a shirt. He's annoyingly confident about this part. In fact, he's done with the conversation. But I have one more test (and remember this when you are stuck in a similar dress vs. shirt situation).

Me: But wait....Say I'm in Mexico and I've had a couple of margaritas and this song I love comes on. (And with that I lift my arms in the air and do a little half dance).
Reg: I'd say that those underwear are very cute.

And so we come to the sad end of the journey of the Dress which also begins the journey of the Shirt as it will live on in my closet but as a top that requires a bottom.

The moral of this story is: If something seems like it's one or the other, it's a shirt and always listen to your mom and wear clean underwear. You never know when it counts.

1 comment:

So that's what I have to say. What about you?