Oct 12, 2018 4 min read

So, when last we met on this page, I was whining about the trouble I had finding something to wear to a black-tie event. It’s the awards ceremony for the regional Emmy awards, a swanky evening in Philadelphia. I have been in a tizzy about what I might wear, given my strangely mismatched legs, puffy left foot and overall glamour-averse persona.

Oh, and I also don’t try things on in dressing rooms, for the obvious reasons. And so, over the past month, I have shopped online, scouring websites for dressy garments and taking advantage of free shipping offers and discount codes. Items have been arriving at the door in boxes, sometimes two and three at a time, an occurrence that prompted the farmer to yell, “Enough!”

It would have been more logical to order one thing and then try it on before ordering the next, but no. I would open the boxes, hold them against my body and then hang the item from the curtain rods in the guest bedroom. By the time I finally stopped ordering last week, the room was festooned with frocks.

Yesterday, with only days to go, I put on a fashion show for myself. The two fit-and-flare black dresses appeared to be made of stretchy sofa material. I’d ordered it in two sizes, just in case. Oddly, the one with the larger size on the tag was too tight, and the smaller one was huge. Both were itchy.

Because pants tend to work best for me, I ordered eight jumpsuits. I know, I know. But these adult onesies can be very strangely cut. Several were too tight, one was a weird blood color, and one had a crotch that hung so low it looked like I was standing in a bucket.

The sizes were all over the place. Some pants marked “tall” were up around my ankles; others fit on the bottom but were so small on top I spilled out all over. I can no longer get away with that – if I ever could.

I realize different designers will have different fit models, but this was ridiculous. Even items from the same store varied in size. That fashion show was a roller coaster of emotions, swinging me from “Yay, that size L was a little big on me” to “Why the heck can’t I get this XL over my head?” The worst moment came when I pushed things too far, stuffing myself into a pine green jumpsuit. I think I might have dislocated a rib trying to get back out of it. If I were to size up, I would be wandering into numbers I’ve never touched before.

I know it’s only a number on the tag, and the older I get the less I worry about that. All I really wanted was something comfortable and elegant to wear to this event. I will have a better time if I think I look OK.

And so tomorrow night, I will be wearing a black velvet jumpsuit, sleeveless with a ribbon bow at one shoulder. It fits like a glove, and the size is what I usually wear. Of course, with these onesies, you have to dismantle the whole thing in order to go to the bathroom, but that’s OK – beauty can be a pain.

When I walk around in the crowd, I’ll know all that shopping was worth it.

And when I get home on Sunday, I’ll have a heap of rejected outfits to return to the store. I counted 14 of them.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.