Such Simple Sins

Poverty breeds some strange things - even sewing.

I used to work for Russell Stover's, both before I was pregnant and afterward for a while.  Then I went to work at City Hall.

None of that matters any at all.

When I worked downtown, I used to go window shopping at either Macy's or The Jones Store on my lunch hour pretty much every day. 

I had been doing that since I was a teenager, I guess.  Me and my girlfriend, Michelle, used to take the Northeast bus off of St. John Ave. every Saturday and do the same thing.  Only we carried around an old black and white Polaroid.  We'd go into the dressing rooms and try on the s**t we knew we'd never be able to afford in a thousand lifetimes. 

We'd take Polaroids of ourselves in the clothes.  Afterward, we'd catch the Truman Road bus out to Sam's Bargain Town.  We'd find us a similar pattern for 29 cents, then buy some fabric for around 49 cents a yard, and we'd be stylin', honey!  Sixties, hippie-chick finery as good as Janis herself wore!  F**k those high price goods!  We had a sewing machine!

OK - later.

So, I was working downtown at one place or another from the mid 70's until the late 80's, when we moved to North Carolina, then Ohio, then Kansas, then here to the pit of hades. 

So just about every day, I'd window shop on my lunch hour instead of Saturday mornings, and as a grown woman with a child and not a schoolgirl fashionista.  And forget the sewing machine because that was my momma's and it stayed with her. 

I had boring, mundane jobs and a boring, mundane life as a single parent with an infant born prior to Roe vs. Wade.  Not makin any comment about that here - just placing some time perspective is all.

I'd watch as beautiful, Vogue-worthy dresses got moved from the center aisles into places further inward.  I watched as that move made the prices go down. 

Once in a while - not often - I watched one of those Vogue-worthy beauties go from an obscene amount of money, to dreadfully overpriced, to still just a tad too pricey, to $4.00 on the clearance rack.

When that happened, it was a good day. 

Life was s****y and hard and lonely and scary.  I was 19.  Plus, I was 35.  I hate to say it, but underneath the fear and poverty and hard times, getting a fantastic deal on a beautiful dress was definitely a highlight for a good long while.  It was like a commitment to the future.  I had to live to wear it. 

I look back a little in horror at the me of those days.  Of my vanity, and my need for consideration by a society that rejected me so completely.

It seemed harmless, like pretending made life be so.  And nothing couldn't be solved with a needle and thread, a machine and a couple of yards.  Or a great bargain, watched for months, and the thrill of the garment-challenged hunt. 

Such simple sins.