The great American pastime

I went shopping today, which is very unusual for me. I don't mean grocery shopping, which I do about every other day. I mean clothes shopping.

As those of you who know me know, I've always hated to shop. It's always seemed like such a waste of my precious time, and I've never been rich enough to shop with anything approaching abandon. I have to think about each purchase, being as practical as I can be. First of all, is it something I can afford? (Since this is always question #1, I am always attracted to the end-of-season reduced racks, where prices have been slashed to what the items are actually worth). Then, if it's a skirt do I have at least one and preferably two tops I can wear with it? If it's a blouse do I have at least one skirt I can wear with it? Is it something I can wear to work?

Even before I do these mental calculations there are other things I have to consider. For example, when buying outer clothing, the first consideration is color. I don't even look at things that are beige, brown, rust-colored, orange, yellow, grey, greyed-down shades of blue or green (also known as teal blue and teal green), navy or -- usually -- black, because those colors do not look good on me. Second, I consider the fabric. A kicky little summer dress made out of polyester is ridiculous, because polyester is hot; likewise I can no longer wear knitted tops because they cling and my "top" (more accurately my mid-section) no longer takes kindly to clinging. Then, style. Do I like the look of the thing? These days the answer is frequently no, as I find most of the styles hanging on the racks ugly, sometimes in the extreme. Admittedly we've at least gotten away from padded shoulders, a fashion that I loathed, and which seemed to last forever, the way long, baggy shorts for boys and young men have.

And finally...does it fit? And not only fit, but look good on me? Both questions are answered in the fitting room, where one is forced to avert ones eyes at the sight of ones soft, aging, semi-nude body, while experimenting with various fashions, some of which (in former shopping expeditions) wouldn't even close at the waist.

You can see why I consider shopping more ordeal than fun. But I decided to put myself through this ordeal today because we really do seem to be in the midst of The Endless Summer, and I am sick to death of wearing the same six skirts, five tops, in various combinations. I lost the use of three old standby skirts this summer, due to the ever increasing waistline (I have gained 30 pounds in the past five years, ten of those pounds in the past year). I have more blouses, but they are not cool enough for the inferno that is my library. On top of which, I figured since this was the end of the season, there would be some good bargains to be had.

So I went to good ol' Kohl's, the closest thing to a department store in the Augusta area (it appalls me that the state capital has a K-Mart, a Wal-Mart and a Target, but no proper department store. You have to drive 50 minutes to Portland, or an hour and a quarter to Bangor, to find department stores, buried in malls.) And I helped the economies of China (a skirt, two blouses), Indonesia (a pair of shorts, since the one and only pair I still fit into -- thanks to the elastic waistband -- are starting to wear out), Vietnam (3 pair underpants) and Thailand (another pair of underpants). I will admit the fact that not a single item was made in the U.S. makes me uneasy, but here's the real killer. Supposedly American businesses have things manufactured overseas in order to keep them cheap. But a simple little cotton blouse was originally $40 (I got it for $16, which is what I would say it was worth); my pair of shorts were also originally $40 (I got them for 12). So what I'm wondering is, where are the cheap prices, that come from sending everything overseas to be put together? And my god, what must they charge for shorts at Neiman Marcus?

Well, at least I should be cool, while looking fetchingly different, this coming week