Since I haven’t purchased any clothes since the 2012 Erma Workshop, and most of those show substantial wear, I bought a new box of courage and brave the shopping world yesterday.
In the Easter shopping crowd.
And I lived.
I think I did quite well. All in all I purchased 47.63 pounds of clothes. It’s not the number that counts, it’s the weight. Remember, I’m a Floridian traveling to Ohio. In the springtime. And I’m not a size 2.
I broke a sweat in the dressing room. All that on and off with the clothes so soon after my last shopping trip was too much for the old body. Either that or shock makes a person perspire – a lot.
I’m a bit concerned that if trying to pack all of my new purchases in a suitcase that I can remain under the weight limit of the airlines. Perhaps if I used those suck-em-up bags and remove some of the air it will work.
On the clothes, not me.
I didn’t intentionally look for clothing befitting my status of an Erma attendee. Instead I went for the “Can-I-afford-this-look” look. Any similarities to Erma or anyone else at the workshop is coincidental and shall not be grounds for removal of me or the clothing.
I had my nails done on Tuesday, but only because I had broken a nail on Saturday, and everyone knows I can’t type or write my name without my nails. How can one attend a writing workshop if one can’t write?
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Tonight I am taking time to erase the gray. I’m too vain, um young, to have gray hairs. That and my stylist depends on me to support her son’s sports addiction. I have responsibilities.
I still have to find my business cards, flight schedule, hotel reservation number, credit card, and make a run to the bank for cash, and pack, then I should be set.
Except for that work thing. I still have a few days of that to finish before I make my great escape, I mean trip.
I haven’t really done anything special in preparation for the workshop after 2 conferences in the same clothes I think there might be those who would start rumors. Either that or I would end up in a blog.
I can only hope.
From the life and mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
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