Anyone who knows me well knows I'm not mechanically skilled.
A simple can opener can puzzle me.
I'm also not one to shop. And yes, this story connects the two.
So since I'm disinclined to shopping, when I see Sarah in Raleigh, we go clothes shopping at Good Will, which is like a great treasure hunt. (Sarah loves to shop and is good at it). I wander and browse, she selects possible items. When the cart overflows, she, Rebekah, and I pick the largest dressing room and start trying on clothes.
I usually just stand there until Sarah tosses me an item to try.
This routine has a more local precedent, which began with my mother, who also likes to shop.
On one particular trip to Louis Joliet Mall, probably close to ten years ago, my two daughters and my mother decided I needed some new clothes. So I sat in one dressing room after another, sipping a Gloria Jean coffee, while they handed me items through the door.
One shirt they loved on me I rejected because it was a camisole sewn into a shirt. No matter how I tried, the inside shirt twisted into the outside shirt, and Rebekah had to help put me into it. I rejected it; they thought it looked cute on me, (my favorite shade of dark blue), and since my mother was buying (or over-buying as the situation usually went), it came home in the bags with me.
Fast forward to a random Saturday. Everyone was passed out from the paper route, and I had to go to a women's devotional meeting from our church. I was riding as far as New Lenox to meet with the leader of the group, and then riding with her to Homewood.
Rebekah thought this shirt would pair nicely with a white skirt. So, even though she was sleeping and unable to play lady's maid, I decided to give it a try. After many frustrating minutes, I untwisted myself from the clutches of this evil shirt, hung the shirt on the back of the bathroom door, and picked another shirt, not quite as pretty as the blue, but easier for this clumsy soul to maneuver.
When I arrived at Karen's house, she was giving instructions to the babysitter regarding the care of her four-year-old Nicole. I hadn't seen Nicole for awhile, and she was eager to see me, too. So I sat on the living room floor, and she jumped into my lap.
Nicole made certain I admired her shirt, embellished with a large yarn flower sewed into its front. She was very proud of this shirt and told me she'd picked it out to wear today.
"Because it's your favorite?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Because I can put it on by myself."
Then she admired my shirt and asked me why I chose that particular one, too.
Well....
Yes, it was the same answer.
Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage." Follow him
at www.facebook.com/artbymattcoundiff
A simple can opener can puzzle me.
I'm also not one to shop. And yes, this story connects the two.
So since I'm disinclined to shopping, when I see Sarah in Raleigh, we go clothes shopping at Good Will, which is like a great treasure hunt. (Sarah loves to shop and is good at it). I wander and browse, she selects possible items. When the cart overflows, she, Rebekah, and I pick the largest dressing room and start trying on clothes.
I usually just stand there until Sarah tosses me an item to try.
This routine has a more local precedent, which began with my mother, who also likes to shop.
On one particular trip to Louis Joliet Mall, probably close to ten years ago, my two daughters and my mother decided I needed some new clothes. So I sat in one dressing room after another, sipping a Gloria Jean coffee, while they handed me items through the door.
One shirt they loved on me I rejected because it was a camisole sewn into a shirt. No matter how I tried, the inside shirt twisted into the outside shirt, and Rebekah had to help put me into it. I rejected it; they thought it looked cute on me, (my favorite shade of dark blue), and since my mother was buying (or over-buying as the situation usually went), it came home in the bags with me.
Fast forward to a random Saturday. Everyone was passed out from the paper route, and I had to go to a women's devotional meeting from our church. I was riding as far as New Lenox to meet with the leader of the group, and then riding with her to Homewood.
Rebekah thought this shirt would pair nicely with a white skirt. So, even though she was sleeping and unable to play lady's maid, I decided to give it a try. After many frustrating minutes, I untwisted myself from the clutches of this evil shirt, hung the shirt on the back of the bathroom door, and picked another shirt, not quite as pretty as the blue, but easier for this clumsy soul to maneuver.
When I arrived at Karen's house, she was giving instructions to the babysitter regarding the care of her four-year-old Nicole. I hadn't seen Nicole for awhile, and she was eager to see me, too. So I sat on the living room floor, and she jumped into my lap.
Nicole made certain I admired her shirt, embellished with a large yarn flower sewed into its front. She was very proud of this shirt and told me she'd picked it out to wear today.
"Because it's your favorite?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Because I can put it on by myself."
Then she admired my shirt and asked me why I chose that particular one, too.
Well....
Yes, it was the same answer.
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