On the other hand, I can go off shopping for a dress and end up surprising myself. I might choose a shade of colour I hadn't thought suited me, or a new pattern will strike my eye and will suit, what I feel anyway, is my personality. Just last winter in Pittsburgh, for example, I bought a long green and dark brown summer dress that reminded me of something I would have worn in the 70s. And it's beautiful. And it cost very little.
Still, I do have to be careful about colour. Because of my pale skin I am relegated to far fewer shades than the average Jane, and because I am tall and of a certain (cough cough) age, and because I am not skinny all over, there are some limitations. I am careful about my purchases and try not to linger too long lamenting a dress that would be folly for me to own. And I have known all of these things since I was a child, as have most of you.
Why is it then that we choose friendships that are not right for us? Why do we insist on that pale, or even bright, yellow dress -- despite its friendliness and beauty and common good sense -- when we know that as soon as we put it over our heads our bilirubin factor increases tenfold? And why, after we put it on, do we insist on going about town as if it were the finest dress we have ever owned, in fact sometimes stopping for long periods of time in shops that sell only yellow dresses?
No no no, it won't do. As momentarily sad as it is, the best way for us to approach our shopping days is to know what suits us, know why it suits us, make sure the item is within our price range and that the quality is good. Otherwise we will spend our days walking around in inappropriate colours while people gape at us and say, "You know, that yellow dress would look lovely on your sister, but on her? I don't think so."
