Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

Wow, May flew by like the wind, but I am doing OK.

Because I have lost weight this year, I have had to purchase some new clothes.  I no longer really enjoy shopping like I once did, as running around stores to buy things to add to my collection of "stuff", is no longer a priority.  I already have too much "stuff" which I am trying to give away, and adding to it defeats my purpose.  However, right now my pants hang on me like a hip-hop teenage boy, and believe me, it is not a pretty sight.  I have to bend down quite a bit doing my gardening and the moon shot that I give off could send small children screaming to their mother's side.

So now I am down to a size with a single digit, a feat I thought I would never experience again.  This does make me feel quite good, however, the parts that used to fit into this size, are no longer in the same places.  Because of this, "separates" are the name of the game and structured underwear is a necessity. 

Now I am feeling very fashionable in my straight leg pants (not to be confused with skinny).  At first I got some cool boots with heels to wear with this very popular style, only to realize this was a form of suicide for women of a certain age.  I have settled on wedge heels which, so far, have kept me vertical.

As my friends can tell you though, my foray into new hip clothes has not been without incident.  It seems that manufacturers like to put cellophane labels on their apparel.  Aren't the two or three tags that they attach enough?  These labels usually go up the side of the leg of jeans and on left side of the chest  on tops.  I don't always notice them as they are clear except for the size printed on them.  I have now been told by complete strangers that I have forgotten to remove these.  Last week I was out having dinner with friends and I saw someone take a quick glance at the shirt I was wearing, and I knew right away, something was amiss.  No one stares at a mature woman's anatomy, unless of course, they are sickos.   I looked down and there it was, a large M circling my now lifted mams (with the help of my erector set like new undergarments).  It could have been worse, it could have said XXXL.

I can't say this is all new to me.  Back in my perkier days, I used to do my shopping during my lunch hour. Once I went into a store looking for a sweater for my son and bent over a display where they had their merchandise stacked on pyramid-like shelving.  Not finding anything, I left the store and then walked around the mall for another half hour.  Upon returning to work, I walked into my boss' office to give him some paperwork and noticed a  look on his face.  "Arleen", he said, "you have something on your dress", and he made this hand gesture across his chest.  I looked down and sticking to my clothes was a sign saying "50% off".  It must have become attached to me as I leaned over the array of sweaters.

For half an hour I walked around a crowded shopping center with this advertisement.  After thinking it over though, I was not sure to be embarrassed or insulted.  Gee, 50% off and no takers.