Oh, no, Mr. Bill

I love clothes. I love looking at them and mentally designing different looks. I do not want to be the one who has to go trawling through the mall looking at and buying clothes. I am missing that gene. But I have a dilemma. I am scheduled, so far, for four personal appearances to promote Cup of Comfort for Single Mothers and I don't think I can get away with my old standbys. As someone recently pointed out, when I wore them two years ago they were nearly transparent.

I have had the clothes for more than a decade and they have a few holes that I've patched and they're clean, but they are getting a bit thin and the elastic waistband isn't what it used to be: tight, springy, etc. I have added one or two things over the years, but even they have seen better days (I don't know how those stains got on there, except that they went into the washer without them and came out of the dryer with them -- I blame the fabric softener). I do realize that I should be presentable, but I hate shopping. Why oh why can't someone make shopping easier for shopping gene-free people like me? What I need want is a personal shopper with a keen sense of style that won't make me gag or feel the need to commit murder, an eye for bargains and the ability to stay within a limited budget. Somehow I don't think such a person exists.

Most designers, and I use the term very loosely, design clothes for the hanger. The fact that the hanger has arms, legs and a head does not detract from the fact that it's still a hanger. I understand about designing for a flat two dimensional surface; I have painted portraits and people before and I was pretty good at it, but most people are not made that way, just a small segment of the population that are obviously the offspring of a wire hanger and a skeleton. What I don't understand, is if designers are such geniuses why they cannot design clothes for a three dimensional person with curves and bulges and not make them look like clowns or dressed in cast off circus tents caught in a tie-dye massacre. A true couture genius should be able to design clothes to make every body look good. That would be something to see and something I would be willing to use my hard-earned book money to buy.

No amount of artful accessorizing or draped shawls, tabards and dust jackets is going to change the fact that the clothes are awful, the patterns hideous and the selection more limited than Paris Hilton's common sense. Making a pattern bigger and painting it in neon-bright colors that come with a small generator does not make the clothing look any better. Rather, it calls attention to an otherwise gaudy and distasteful incident that causes traffic accidents and clock stoppage. It definitely won't work for me. Good thing I have a whole day to go shopping after the move so I can find something to wear to the book signing on Saturday. Or maybe I'll remind my co-authors that I am moving this week and need the weekend to pull everything together so I can go back to work on time on Monday. It's only one signing. The next appearance is in June and that will give me enough time to force myself to go to the mall if I can't find something suitable online that will arrive before the book signing. There has to be an easier way to do this, but I'm afraid I'll have to rely on the one person who has seen me through every other difficult and potentially dangerous situation -- me.

That is all. Disperse.