The Old Grey Mare She Ain't What She Used To Be...

I haven't gone out much lately - but when I found the walls closing in today I decided the only antidote was shopping. I'll admit I have always loved to shop - I am decisive about it - no dithering. I walk into a store, peruse as if I'm being timed in a road-race and know exactly with a glance what I like and don't like. I handle it like a recognizance mission, assess the territory and strike. But shopping feels different now - first, because I am increasingly conscious of my dwindling bank balance and second, because a part of me wonders why I would invest in a single new item when I literally have racks of clothes I do not wear anymore. The morbid part of me looks at it as one more piece of irrelevant merchandise that someone in my life will have to bag up and dispose of at some point - a thought I desperately tried to push from my mind as I drove. Also, the items I seek out are different now. I find myself searching for comfort - soft fabric that will not chafe - anything to bring me warmth. So I found myself under the unforgiving lights of a dressing room - forced to confront my own face in the mirror - still looking for signs that I may have missed before of my current state - signs that the bored sales-person might pick up on and look at me as something other than just another older woman trying on clothes that are likely too young for her. I don't know why I care - what I see is really no different than what I have ever seen - someone trying to play dress-up and be anyone else but who she is.