Three mysteries will
always taunt me: Einstein's Theory of Relativity, how to buy low
and sell high, and how it's possible to have three huge closets
crammed with clothes and still never have a thing to wear-at least
nothing appropriate for the occasion at hand.
Everything I own is
either too formal or too casual for anything to which I'm ever
invited. I seem to have an uncanny knack for either buying all
the wrong clothes or not getting asked to any of the right affairs.
For instance, I was
recently requested to attend a surprise anniversary party to be
held at four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. I was very smug as
I slipped into my elegantly simple tailored suit that the saleswoman
had assured me would be at home at any afternoon social event.
That's just where I should have left it--at home. When I arrived
at the party I had the feeling that the other women guests belonged
to a secret sorority. All of them (including the lady being "surprised.")
knew something I didn't. There they were-every last one of them-dripping
diamonds and black chiffon to their anklebones. At first I thought
I had the wrong address and had stumbled into a very dressy wake.
But nobody had died. I just wished I could.
However, uncomfortable
though I was, I apparently wasn't considered completely disgraced,
because a few weeks later someone in the same group sent me a
very elegant, elaborately engraved invitation to a 'garden party.'
Naturally, I didn't have a thing to wear, but they weren't going
to fool me twice. This time the formality of the invitation gave
me a clue as to what would be suitable. I went shopping and tried
on one of the latest 'in' fashions...I was positive it was 'in'
because no woman in her right mind would want to be seen 'out'
in it. But it was the mode of the moment, so I bought it. Before
leaving for the party, I scrutinized myself in my full-length
mirror and couldn't decide if I looked like a dress extra in a
ball scene in a Victor Herbert operetta or a fugitive bridesmaid
from a royal wedding. But I was absolutely certain of one thing--I
was appropriately done up for a formal garden party. Unfortunately,
the shindig turned out to be a backyard barbecue. Again, all the
other sorority sisters knew. They were huddled around the spit
in their cut-off denims and scruffy Adidas.
The following week,
when another group of friends invited me to a cookout, I rushed
out and bought some jeans, buried them in the garden overnight,
soaked them in harsh detergent for three days, and then cut and
frayed the cuffs. "Perfect," I thought, as I jogged off to the
cookout. I had even remembered to forget to put on make-up and
comb my hair. You guessed it--the other guests were doing Act
Two of "The Merry Widow" that evening. I was so embarrassed I
beat a hasty retreat, pleading a terrible headache that had made
it impossible for me to wear my tiara.
I'm really getting
paranoid about this. How come everyone but me knows what to wear?
I even felt like a misfit driving through the toll booth on the
Massachusetts Turnpike yesterday. I thought I was very chic in
my designer tee shirt, leather skirt, thong sandals and car, all
in matching red; wouldn't you know-all the toll collectors were
wearing green.
I swear I wouldn't
even know what to wear to a nude beach. I'd show up in a fig leaf
and everyone else would be wearing violets and expressions that
said, "My Dear, don't you know that costume went out with Adam
and Eve?"
I could really use
one of those outfits they advertise that can "go anywhere" with
a few deft changes of accessories. You've seen them at fashion
shows. A snooty model slinks on stage in a precisely-tailored
pants suit, "perfect for that important Board meeting." When the
meeting adjourns, Ms. Chic slips out of her slacks and into a
matching wrap-around skirt (which had been doubling as a headband),
and voila! She's ready for lunch at The Four Seasons, after which
her handsome escort takes her to a near-by exclusive beach club.
Once there, she simply takes off everything--except the tropical
print bikini panties and bra which double as beach wear. After
a refreshing swim, her bathing suit and hair drip-dry to perfection
in ninety seconds flat; and since her waterproof make-up hasn't
so much as smudged, she's ready to dress and return to work. She
arrives just as her phone rings. It's Prince Charming. He's picking
her up at the office at 6:00 for a gala night on the town. What
to wear? No problem. She simply removes her blouse and bra and
ties her chiffon handkerchief halter-style around her firm bosom.
She then unzips her hem,releasing a floor-length flounce. A touch
of Chanel®, a hint of lip gloss, and she's off. And you just know
that she and her smashing attire will be the page one feature
of "Women's Wear Daily" tomorrow.
I've just got to get
me one of those outfits. On second thought, why? I don't need
one. The only time I've been asked to important Board meetings
were in my unliberated past when I carried in the coffee, and
a simple apron and cap would have done nicely. And it's been months
since anyone's invited me to The Four Seasons--or even MacDonald's.
Furthermore, I can't swim, and I doubt if Prince Charming even
has my phone number.
Besides, there's one
big advantage to not having exactly the right thing to wear--it's
a great excuse when you really don't want to accept an invitation.
I'm planning to use it, in fact, when the Grim Reaper comes to
fetch me. "Gee, I'm sorry," I'll say, "I can't possibly go--I
haven't a thing to wear."
Rose Mula was an executive
assistant, a public relations specialist, and an operations manager
for a New England theater chain before discovering a passion for
writing.
Her work has appeared
in The Saturday Evening Post, Yankee, Modern Maturity, The
Christian Science Monitor, The Reader's Digest, The Philadelphia
Inquirer, The Baltimore Sun, and more than a hundred other
magazines and newspapers. Actually-thousands of newspapers, since
one of her essays, The
Stranger in My Mirror (originally titled, The Stranger
in My House), was reprinted in Ann Landers' nationally syndicated
column in 1999, and after an explanatory exchange with Ms. Landers, an attribution.
Rose's new book, If These Are Laugh Lines I'm Having Way Too Much Fun, is available at bookstores, through online bookstores, and from Pelican Publishing, 800-843-1724. The book was a finalist in USABOOKNEWS.COM's 2006 Best Books Award humor category. Meanwhile, she can reached
by e-mail.
