Where Are Clinton and Stacy When You Need Them?

Today, people, I went shopping. Today was my designated shopping day. I donned an easy to doff dress and slip-on shoes, and went forth into buying battle, prepared to try on as many dresses as it took to find THE dress.

I may not have mentioned this, but I have an upcoming high school reunion, and as you may or may not know, it is all about the dress. Or it becomes all about the dress.

At first, it is about the excitement. Who will I see? How will they look? What have they been up to? And then YIKES! the realization hits: Who will see me? How will I look? And most importantly, how can I find a dress that makes me look like I have not been doing what I have been doing for the last 25 years, i.e., slowly losing the battle with my genetic material.

A month ago, I thought I'd found the perfect dress, and I felt so smug. I was relaxed. I wouldn't have to go through that last-minute dress panic. And then I read the invitation: "Semi-formal." Hmmm. Well, semi-formal means cocktail dress or dressy separates, but just how dressy? A semi-formal affair, in Oakdale, at a place called the "Almond Pavilion" ...anything could happen. My dress, while flattering, is jersey, which is definitely a non-semi-formal material.

There is a fine balance between looking fabulous and trying too hard. There is also a fine balance, especially at my age, between semi-formal and Mother of the Bride. The choices available in the stores are either strapless or dowdy. Anything cute is too small or too revealing. Anything with upper arm coverage is the dress equivalent of a bathing suit with a skirt.

Velvet and sequins are obviously out. Velvet is out of season and sequins are trying too hard. Of course, someone who still has the body they had in high school (which was great to start with) by means natural or otherwise, will wear sequins, and everyone who rejected the sequins will curse her choice. Someone is going to wear the perfect thing, and then no matter what I choose, I'll smack myself in the head wishing I'd found it first.

Silk charmeuse is beautiful, eternally sexy, and shows every curve. Especially the ones you don't want to show. It's as comfy as a nightgown and looks like one. It is also one of those unfortunate fabrics, like linen and rayon, that reverberates when you walk. (Take note.) Powerful undergarments must be worn. Or no undergarments at all over a drum-tight body. I have neither powerful undergarments (nor the desire to wear them), nor do I have the flat stomach and stairmaster butt that I once (so briefly) had. But the dress of my dreams is made of gunmetal gray, heavy silk and feels like pajamas. It's ruched here and boosted there; part siren, part bombshell. (Sigh.) *I realized later while re-reading this that it sounds like more an air-raid than a reunion dress!

It also comes with its own theme song, confetti and a banner overhead: "CONGRATULATIONS! YOU LOOK FABULOUS!".

You can see the potential pit-falls of shopping for such a magic dress. But today, today was worse than merely full of pits to fall in. It was the pits. July is a great time for bargain shopping-- if you're looking for mis-matched bathing suits or cheap cotton separates in the reject colors from Spring. But it is the WORST time to shop for THE dress.

Today was also my first trip out into a mall since this whole economic slowdown. Let me tell you, it was bleak out there. The rubber has met the road. I could have driven a car between the racks in some of those stores, they were so sparsely stocked. The teenage salespeople were so bored out of their minds they'd actually keep talking as the few shoppers slipped in like ant scouts looking for sugar. A few, god bless them, actually made eye contact and welcomed us to the store.

With the closing of the Mervyn's chain, there were dark corners in the mall that didn't exist before. Some mall official had tried to stuff a few benches and fake potted plants in the corners, but there was no lighting yet, so it just looked sad and dark. I mentioned how quiet it seemed to a girl at one of the counters, and she said, "Oh, I think everyone's at the fair." Meaning the county fair. If the people who go to the county fair are the only mall customers left, we are really in trouble.

But back to my problem. So I tried one mall (the closest one, 45 minutes away) but they had no dresses. I went to the other mall in the same town, which I described above. In desperation, I came home, fortified myself with a tomato sandwich and went forth again, to the local outlet mall. I tried on three dresses, all casual, just to try on something. I went through every shop, even though I knew some of them wouldn't have a thing.

This is not fun shopping, this is work shopping. This is goal-oriented, thankless, pavement-pounding shopping. This is the search for the wearable holy grail. And it's taking place all over the country as women attempt to dress for the summer's remaining reunions and weddings.

All I can say is, good luck girls! And if one of you finds my dress, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting here under the banner.