Honey, I've got nothing to wear - a journey into the female mind
Sep 18 '07
The Bottom Line The bottom line has never needed more than thirty minutes to get ready for anything. Provided you give me a few hours notice ;-)
If you are male, over the age of 18 and have ever taken a woman out to dinner, chances are you've heard this: "Honey, I've got nothing to wear". Your thoughts probably ranged from ' she's got a closet full of clothes, so how can she say that' to ' just put something on and let's go'. To the male mind it's as simple as that. Now let me introduce you to the female side of things.
My clothes easily fill two large closets. Deduct 25% of that for work clothes (I wear scrubs) and another 25% for clothes that are currently too small or too large. Okay, now we are down to one closet. Much more manageable. You have just asked me out to dinner. I had a long hard day at work, ate too much for lunch and I'm about a week away from a full-blown PMS attack. But since I adore you, I will go out to dinner, even though I'd rather stay home and watch TV.
Sweetly and innocently I ask you where you plan to take me. Your answer "well, I thought maybe that new Steakplace on Russell" does not give me much of a clue. Is it a casual place where I can get away with Jeans and a nice T-shirt? Or is it one of those fancy, French places where I have to dress to the nines. A quick online search reveals nothing. Strike one.
I decide to keep it middle of the line. Skirt or Pants? I know you like to look at my legs, but maybe a skirt is too much. So Pants it is. Trousers or Jeans? Maybe Jeans. I decide on the slim cut ones that I absolutely loved in the store. Of course I was three pounds thinner then and the mirrors in those places are always flattering. Dark blue or black? Well maybe dark blue. That only took 15 minutes
I take a quick shower, shave and do whatever else needs doing and put on the jeans. I have to inhale quite deeply to get them to zip. If I let my breath out my belly bulges a tiny bit over the waistband. Okay, so I wear a loose shirt. But which one. Twenty minutes later I've decided on the cute pink Halter-top that you picked out last Saturday at the mall. You have good taste, I have to leave you that. By now you are asking me for the third time if I am ready yet. My standard answer "almost" does not seem to appease your impatience.
I put on the top and look in the mirror. I look at my front - everything looks good, then my rear - not too shabby either, hope you like what you see. Then I check myself out from the side....Ouch, that won't do. My tiny belly bulge has taken on huge proportions. Maybe the top is a bit on the small side. I take it off and stand in front of my open closet. I really want to do pink tonight. Long-sleeve maybe? No, too warm. Tee with sequins? No, too glittery. I've worn the other one just two weeks ago, so that's out too. The plain pink is too simple and I don't really like the other four pink ones. So on to the next color. I also strike out with white and light blue. There's just nothing in here for me to wear. You are by now yelling at me to get my A** in gear.
I finally decide on a little silky black shirt. I haven't worn it in a while, but it looks great on me and shows off a bit of cleavage. You'll like it. But not with these jeans. Off come the pants. By now our bed looks like the floor of a Department store dressing room. Clothes everywhere. I look at the Pants in my closet. Ticking them off with my finger I go over each one.: Too dressy, too long, too short, not the right color, not the right fit. I finally narrow it down to either my white low rider jeans or the khaki capris. The white jeans look great, but I better try on the Capris, just in case they look better. No they don't. So off they come and back on go the white jeans. Belt, I need a belt. Black of course because of my shirt. I only have four black belts, so the choice is easy. The wide studded one, or the one with the little rhinestone hearts? I decide on hearts and stick with my choice. You no longer yell, you must have realized that it takes a bit of time to get dressed. And it's only been a little over an hour.
Time to look for shoes. Oh the choices? Heels, definitely heels. But spikes or wedges? Chunky or narrow? Open toed or a closed shoe. I try all seven black pairs and still can't decide. I finally grab the black sandals with the ankle straps and the three-inch heel. They're uncomfortable on my feet, but they make my legs look a mile long. Now to make-up. And still not a peep from you. After smudging my lipstick a bit with my fingers I realized that I have also smudged my white jeans. Right across the front. Dang it, now I have to start all over again. I get so disgusted with the whole dressing up for dinner thing that I grab my favorite pair of camo capris, throw on a white tank (had it forever) and slip on my favorite pair of flip flops. Ponytail and I am ready. See that didn't take all that long.
When I walk downstairs two and a half hours later, you are sound asleep on the couch, remote in hand, the movie we wanted to watch together half over and I am really ticked off. If you didn't really want to go out, why did you ask me?
But, as I said before, I adore you. So I cover you with a blanket, stop the movie and call a friend. "Hey Kathy, we need to go shopping. I've got nothing to wear".
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