The Outfit I Can’t Return

I went to a boutique sale today, (sample sale meets swap meet) with my darling mother (Angela Bassett meets Martha Stewart - without the record). We piled both arms high before we made our way to the dressing room to try on our potential purchases. When the makeshift, non-English speaking, hostess pointed us into the direction of the dressing room, we both approached the big brown curtain with an unanticipated hesitation. My mother peaked first, and to our angst, we walked into a big room of, you guessed it… no privacy.

It wasn’t until that moment, that I started to question the undergarments I chose that morning… or rather, the lack of. My mother accidentally exclaimed a “whoa” - in response to a woman who, not only seemed to mind the crowd, but had a different perspective of “upkeep.”

We found a little corner, took a deep breath, and hoped no one was paying attention as we stripped down to nothing but our insecurities. I didn’t realize how subconscious I was about being in the one outfit I couldn’t give back, my birthday suit. While my sudden state of paranoia caught me off guard, I immediately jumped into panic mode and began to strategize how to un-develop my newly discovered insecurity…

As I looked over at my mom, seemingly over the shock of the nudity, I realized how incredibly comfortable she was in her fifty-four year old skin. I realized that if this lady I call my mother, is any indication of what I will become, I have nothing to be concerned about.

Interestingly enough, the scene became more and more comfortable, as I realized I was the only one freaking out. Before long, we were chatting up the other ladies about bra sizes, boyfriends and the weather, as if we weren’t naked. I even got a compliment on my lack of an undergarment…

//photo credits: Insecurity Masque by Amy Bryan