Maybe I'm being a tad melodramatic. But really. I've been consumed by inner turmoil since the eve of Sunday. The source of my vexation? Rodarte for Target.
Just like everyone else and their mom, I've had the release date penned neatly into my Moleskin day planner for months. I was scheming the best attack plan for my local Target.
Maybe it was karma for cutting off that senior citizen snow bird in traffic last week, or for eating the last midol, but somehow I ended up flat broke (well not "somehow", more like moving expenses and stupid stupid Ikea ate all my money). Regardless, I was crestfallen.
Today, though, I caved and went JUST TO LOOK at whatever Rodarte stuff hadn't yet been picked over by the fashionable vultures. [news flash] Either everyone in my city is lovingly holding off from buying up all the Rodarte/Target stuff until I can afford my share, or they are all blind. The entire Go International section was pristine, nary a hanger out of place... practically nothing was sold! The ribcage dress! The lace cardigans! It was all there, my veritable playground.
(On a side note, I basically turn into a rabid, shallow, and ruthless beast when I'm shopping. Cute!)
Obviously I tried on the cardigan. JUST TO SEE HOW IT LOOKS. Ok, maybe the bow dress too. Or how about everything. Yes! Everything! BUT NO BUYING.
I make my way to the dressing rooms and take my place in line behind the people trying on magenta fleece hoodies and Beetles tee shirts, making eye contact with my shoes.
Finally, I have reached the Promise Land. I giddily savor every piece as I try it on. Until I get to the Swiss Dot Dress. In short, it is amazing. I swear my legs look longer in it. And my skin tone! Wonderful things are happening. I need this dress.
I weigh my options: theft (not so much), or not eating for two weeks (that's not going to happen). And then I remember that I deposited money in my account to go pay my phone bill later today. Eeeeehhhh.... I don't really use my phone that much, do I? I pulled out my Blackberry and examined it accusatorially. I glance back at the mirror. An image of myself running through a wheat field with the Mulleavy sisters passes through my mind. I sigh at my reflection. There's no use trying to talk myself out of it.
And now I sit on my bed, contemplating today's events. The dress, of course, is hanging on my closet door to keep me company. (see photos below). I'm sure there are lessons to be learned, and cyclical destructive life patterns to examine here, but I have a dinner party to attend, alors that will have to wait.
I hope no one tries to call me.
(These are all crappy quality Blackberry photos. Get over it)