Conceptually Charming

Have you ever been rushed for time and bought something that, theoretically speaking, should be terrific only to go home and find it it falls on the horrific end of the scale? This morning, my sister Catherine and I were casually strolling through J.C. Penney, trying not to be squashed or drowned by the tsunami of sale-seekers flooding the store. Catherine was pushing McKenzie. I was looking for a new blouse for the first game of the Arizona Fall League, in which Josh will represent the Orioles as a member of the Phoenix Desert Dogs. It is my rule that I buy a new article of clothing when a new baseball season begins.

Fall League begins Tuesday. Game time- 12:35. Today it was time to go shopping. We made a few stops before J.C. Penney. The parking lot was packed by the time we got there. Everyone else must have seen the same sale flier in the newspaper I did. Drat. What do people need to read the paper for? I should be the only one who sees these great deals.

We went in anyway. It was worse inside, but we persevered. Then my phone gave a well know shiver. Sliding it open to see who was texting me, I kept flipping through racks, mentally discarding everything I saw. Nope: too high school. Definitely no: too plaid. Not a chance: too Hannah Montana.

"I'll be done at 12," the text from Josh said. I glanced at my watch. It was 11:20. There was no way I could find a new shirt and two shower gifts, drop Catherine off at home, and get to Tempe in 40 min, unless I dropped everything and left, but I just couldn't do that.

The hunt was on. From strolling we went to charging, from flipping to rifling. We flew through juniors, and ladies, and back through ladies. Nothing seemed right. Too much or too little or just ugly. Then I saw a cute little black skirt. It was full and gathered at the top to a wide stretchy waistband. Very hip with a vague throwback to June Cleaver, albeit several inches shorter. It was clearanced clearanced, which was also attractive.

"That's cute," Catherine said.

"I know," I wailed, glancing at the fleeting time. "What am I going to wear with it?"

"How about this?" she said, holding up a white tank top flaunting a black chiffon rose and black beads draping the neckline.

"Oh...I don't know. It might work. I guess I could wear it tucked in to the skirt like all the little dresses that are 'in.'"

"Yeah, that would be really cute."

"O.k., I guess if I don't like it I'll just return it. We've got to hurry."

We sprinted through the baby and the home goods sections and made a mad dash to the check-out counter. I kept checking my watch. 11:37. 11:40. Yiiikes! Finally, we were out the door and in the car. There was no way I could be there by noon, so I texted Josh and told him I would be there at 12:15.

We pulled in to player parking at Phoenix Municipal Stadium at 12:15:05. I made it.

When we got home, I was curious to see if it was going to work, but duty called. McKenzie had to go potty, which I really think is all about the jelly beans she earns; she needed to eat lunch; and I needed to reply to several text messages that were buzzing my phone. I finally got her settled for her nap and went to don my purchases.

The skirt was cute, but I wondered if I should have gotten a bigger size. Oh well. It zipped. Time for the shirt. I untangled the attached necklace and examined the black rose, off-centered on the left side, and larger than life. I wiggled into it. Form-fitting would be an understatement. I would definitely need a camisole. I tucked it into the skirt, which to fit comfortably had to sit higher than my waist. I was skeptical.

I walked into the bathroom to examine my creation. Horrors! If I planned on waitressing at a Halloween spook-a-thon, where the skirts were merely a formality, I would fit the bill. Maybe it would be better if I pulled the skirt down to a humane length? It wasn't. It just made me look like an asparagus dressed in black and white with an unnaturally long torso. Well, maybe if I untucked the tank top and kept the skirt at the waist it would work? It didn't. I even tried it with black leggings underneath. I looked like a punk rocker chic who had sprouted a voluminous growth of black fabric. Never mind.

I laughed as I squirmed out of the skirt and peeled off the tank top, happily re-attiring myself in my blue jeans and striped t-shirt. I folded my costume neatly and put it back in the bag. I got the discount for spending $50, but I'll be making returns Monday morning.