On Being Old and Trying on Clothes

The good, no great thing about Grand County is that there is no shopping, unless you're looking for fishing rods, guns or ice chests for beer. But if you want to buy clothes, you have to drive East to Denver or West to Silverthorne and both of them are a day long field trip.

When you go East to Denver everyone in Grand County stops at the Colorado Mills, which is the first shopping center off of I-70. I have never been to Target in Denver without seeing someone from Grand County there, seriously. It's because for those of us who live in the mountains and are not used to cars, people, stop lights and Starbucks, we stop at the first place available, which is Colorado Mills. I'm sure that twenty years ago the planners of this mall had the foresight and understanding of human nature to know that people who live in the Rockies are afraid to go out of the Rockies, thus if we build a mall as close enough to the mountains so that THEY see them, they will come. Which is why I always see someone from Grand County at Target.

As you know, my shopping in Parker with my $25 Target gift card did not go so well...what kind of a mall doesn't have a Target? The kinds that I can't afford to shop at. So last weekend Ian and I went to Georgetown for the orthodontist then made a big circle back to Silverthorne and Target.

All I wanted was a pair of summery pajamas. I've still been wearing my polar bear flannel pajamas which are getting a little frayed around the edges since I often tuck them under my snow pants to go out and feed the horses in the winter.

I hate to try on clothes. Internet shopping was invented for a person such as myself. My only requirements for clothes are that they fit loose enough so that I can continue to eat too much. Many years ago my mother, who still is trying to make me into someone I'm not (isn't that a mother's job?) had my "colors done." What this entailed was money exchanging hands and a heavily made up woman held color slabs (OK, maybe slabs is too strong a word) up to my face to determine what colors looked best with my hair, eye and skin color. I am an Autumn. This means I can wear browns and oranges and some yellows - basically the colors that you see on dead leaves falling off trees. This is too hard to remember.

I am a big fan of "What Not to Wear." I know that if I got on that show and had a few simple rules, I could get my dream job, dream house and dream kids. But I don't think I dress as bad as some of those women, after all, I have given away my clothes I wore in high school, not so with many of the women who get on this show.

When I buy clothes on the Internet, I shop at one store - Sierra Trading Post. I love this site. The clothes are cheap and if they don't fit I can send them back, but rarely do. I keep telling myself I'm going to lose weight - which is something all women tell themselves all the time, and don't say "I don't," if you do, you're lying.

So here I am in Target looking for pajamas and my only rule, because it's the only one I can remember, is that I can't buy something for full price. I have to shop exclusively on the sale rack. Not only does this mean I can afford it, but it limits my choices. I hyperventilate when I have too many choices. You do not want to see me at Costco - it's scary.

So I finally find a pair in my size, on the sale rack and looking rather summery. Of course I don't try them on...who tries on pajamas? When I get them home and put them on (even though  it's the middle of the day, I've been in some too-tight jeans and after eating an entire bag of cranberry chocolate trail mix on the drive home, they're really tight)and they not only make me look fat, they make me look old. They make me look like my mother or even my grandmother. At this point the cheerful colors merely look like some wallpaper that my grandmother had up in her kitchen. The one button in the front is poking me. The no-sleeves style shows that my arms are not the slender brown ones they used to be. And they come above my knees which is not the right length for me - I need full length, that way you don't see my varicose veins and the age spots, which I was really wishing were cancerous at my last checkup in the hopes they could be removed, unfortunately they are just signs of age.

So I wandered out into the living room where my very kind and sweet husband is watching "The Bourne Identity" for the twenty-seventh time and ask, "Do these make me look fat?"

"Of course not, they're cute."

Notice how he doesn't say I'm cute, he says the pajamas are cute...and anyways, do I want to be cute? I'm 52 - I want to be confident and sexy even in grandmotherly pajamas.

"Do they make me look old?"
"You're not old."
"I'm 52."
"That's not old."
"Well of course not to you, you're 56."
"You're not old and you're not fat. You're perfect."

His eyes haven't left Matt Damon jumping from train to train, holding on to the hand of a thin, blond- haired, size 4 actress whom I hope has to throw up after every meal to look like that.

I don't want to be 52 and trying on ugly pajamas in Target. I want to be the actress holding the hand of Matt Damon and not have to throw up. I want to be thirty or maybe twenty five again and this time I promise I'll appreciate  that I can eat half a Canadian pizza with tomatoes or two Dove bars in a row and not even worry about unbuckling my jeans so I can sit. I want to be eighteen and trying on size 6 bikinis and not even looking in the mirror to see how it makes my butt look. I want to be comfortable in jeans, not sweats and I don't want to see other women and say "Well, at least I look better then her...."

Oh well, I think I'm probably doomed to a life of Target or online shopping and trying to be comfortable with my age and the aches and pains I have from that age and secretly hope that the girl holding Matt Damon's hand is lonely and miserable and sees me and wishes she could have a great husband and two pretty good kids.