Lady Logic

If I buy something, is it a forever purchase? I think not. Sometimes it's only temporarily owned. What happens between the time I leave the store and I look at the item in my closet and decide it's not for me? Did it change size/shape/color in the meantime? Am I different now that I own the item? Did I see another dress or top that has more appeal and the new one became superfluous?

Perhaps this penchant for returning things is but one, albeit occasionally frustrating, facet of my feminine personality. I do not observe this habit in men, especially my sweet husband. Henry has the innate ability to make decisions without remorse. He expresses genuine confusion when I'm relinquishing a recent acquisition. His first question is always, "What happened?" I really have no sensible explanation. It's just that somehow I know it isn't right. Maybe there's an inside voice that only awakens afterwards and then insists I forgo the new purchase.

If I were truly insightful, I might admit that I have a tendency to over-buy. I'm a sucker for sales and am buoyed by a bargain. I often become hopelessly attracted to a particular color during a brief time period and am really amazed when I gaze at the clothes hanging in my closet and view a sea of the same shade. What was I thinking? Did I forget that I already own two tops in cranberry? Apparently so.

Recently I've been trying to winnow my collection of clothes. With just a tinge of regret, I folded several summer dresses and placed them gently in a plastic bag destined for my favorite local charity. In so doing, I separated myself from faithful fashions that I'd enjoyed for multiple seasons. Obviously, the reject voice stayed silent in these instances.

Remaining rather forlornly at the rear of my daughter's childhood closet are several suits. It's been almost ten years since I wore these garments regularly. There's absolutely no possibility that I will ever use them again. And yet, they linger. What if I really need a suit? Well, I still have several from which to choose. Should I be concerned that the shoulders are a bit too prominent and the fabric not as fresh as it once was? Why can't I part with these reminders of a person who dressed, really dressed, each weekday? She's happily wearing tees, jeans, tank tops and capris. The heels left long ago, but not the rest of the costume.

My emancipated life, so aptly described by Henry, requires not a single suit, with the possible exception of the swim version. I'm comfortably casual, never mourning the absence of more formal attire.

Last year I bought a basic black dress. Simple, on sale. Selected from Nordstrom's on-line. Upon arrival, I deemed it chic, understated, packable, and maybe even enduring. Excellent characteristics for a classic wrap. Via a phone photo, it received the highest compliment, Caitlin's approval. Yet it hung in the closet awaiting its debut.

Eventually I located the receipt and gave the perfect dress back to the nice people at Nordie's. Sharing this decision with my daughter, I encountered a puzzled, "Why?" I explained that I really had nowhere to wear such a dress. She said, calmly, "Create one. You can always wear it to the grocery store and say you're on the way to a party." What a refreshing attitude. Her lady logic sounds so sensible.