I do Adore Clothes

If I were able to, I would have a house filled with clothes. I would have a room dedicated to pressed shirts and silk blouses with floaty sleeves and lace and ribbon. I would have delicate skirts, from the embroidered and colorful to the sophisticated and classic. Somehow, I would discover the perfect pair of jeans that did not cling to my thighs and make my hips look wide. Perfect bras would help my figure always look it's best, never droopy or puckered. I would spend my days wearing beautiful outfits of crisp linen, not worrying about the laundry bill.

"Excuse me, Blonde Duck," the Invisible Friends cry, waving their hands dramatically. "Surely this isn't so. You're not Paris Hilton. You're not Jessica Simpson. Hell, you spend every day wearing t-shirts with ponies and bumblees on them and skirts. You dress like a five year old. Why are you wanting perfect jeans and elegant skirts? We don't believe this at all you see. Why are you lying?"

Well, Invisible Friends, I am not lying. I do love clothes. Especially pink ones with pictures of ponies and flowers. What started this dreamy post about clothes? I'm still riding high off the shopping experience of that weekend. That's right- shopping endorphins are pumping through my blood.

I am a reformed shop-o-holic. I could buy out a mall in three seconds flat. In my opinion, I was a fashionista in high school. Looking at old pictures has forced me to revise that opinion, but still. There's nothing more that I like than purchasing new outfits and bringing them home. I rush to wear them, reveling in the new clothes smell. For days I float about, skewing tags and stickers right and left. I am new, I am pretty and I look good.

Then the reality of a little thing called budgeting hit. I avoid malls like an alcoholic avoids bars, and I don't look at clothing websites. It just makes me depressed and than I have to admit I really do know where the cookies I hide in cabinets are hidden after all. Most of the time, I just pretend to 'rediscover' them on a daily basis.

"So, you're a clothes addict going shopping?" the Invisible Friends roll their eyes. "We're BORED! We don't care! Give us something entertaining woman! Fart, drool, do something!"

Fine.


So while shopping with my Mom and sister, I was dancing about fanatically in American Eagle.

"Oh God," my sister said, running to the other side of the store. She began inspecting bras and selecting some to try on. Having investigated all the clothes and snagging the ones I liked, I was bored. So I began to fire the g-strings at Moms head like a rubber band, using the elastic to fire them off.

"Miranda Rebecca," my mother said, both amused and shocked her married daughter was acting like a five year old. "Come with us while your sister tries these on."

After hauling in half the store, my sister began to primly try on clothes. I was hyper and bored. I had eaten a cookie and was pumped full of sugar. As the overhead music pumped, I began to salsa in the tiny room.

"Oh my God stop," my sister hissed, looking at me distastefully. "You're so annoying."

Perturbed by her lack of humor, I plopped down on the hard bench again. I stared at my sisters half naked body in front of me. Due to the intense air conditioning, my hands were freezing. My lips spread into a huge grin as I grabbed her waist with my freezing hands. She screamed, whirled around, and beat down on my head with the hanger.

"Oh my God," she hissed, retracting her hanger. I checked my head to see if it was bleeding as Mom giggled. Encouraged by her giggles, I plotted my revenge. As she repeatedly shed bras that didn't work, I plotted and thought. After ten minutes, I extracted my revenge.

She had just turned around and was fiddling with another bra. Quick as a flash, I grabbed poked her breast. After turning white and swatting at me, she was furious. She glared at me and cursed that I was a five-year-old. I just grinned.

As we exited the store, I excitedly drove everyone to the next one on my list.

"Why are you so freaking perky?" she grumbled. "Are you on crack?"

"Nope," I replied cheerfully. "I just adore clothes."