I hate my butt in this!

Yesterday, with lots of time on my hands, I did what any self-respecting American woman would do with a few hours to spare. I went shopping! If you know me at all, you'll know that I hate shopping. I get overwhelmed by too many choices. I almost panic pawing through racks and racks of overpriced tops and bottoms. When I do finally choose several pieces, of course they don't fit. I'm long in the crotch, narrow in the hips, ample in the bust, and I sure don't want my belly showing between my jeans and my t-shirt.

Instead of putting myself through that ordeal, I called a personal shopper at Nordstrom's and made an appointment for 3 PM. As I cruised to the Mall of America, one of the world's largest temples of materialism, I prickled with excitement over this stoke of brilliance. I imagine my shopper, Mandi, a petite, trendy fashionista who would size me up and then breeze through the store finding the perfect outfits for a new me, at a new job.

When I arrived at the Personal Touch desk Mandi was still on break so I wandered through the racks of Theory “suiting” and BCBG MaxMara super long tops. Apparently bellies are out, thank God. I looked up and a tiny woman with a hand outstretched with hustling toward me. “Oh please, don’t let this be Mandi,” I prayed.

“Hi, I’m Mandii,” she said, pumping my hand and dissolving my enthusiasm for a personal shopper. This 55-ish woman wore a black and white plaid jacket that was pilled and pulled at the front. Her tank was pilling as well and didn’t cover her black, lumpy bra. She has too-large square glasses that magnified her “beady little eyes.” (Hey, she was the one who told me she had beady little eyes later in the session! I’m not trying to mean here). It looked as if she had cut her hair herself, straight bangs and chopped bluntly around just under her ears.

She began leading me around the racks, showing me jackets and skirts and asking if I liked something like this? “I though YOU were going to shop for me?” I said with too much urgency. “I AM,” she replied, I am just trying to get an idea of what you like.

“Oh, OK, sorry, it’s just that I hate shopping,” I apologized. I told her what I did for a living, what I liked, colors I thought looked good on me, and my sizes and she led me to a spacious dressing room to disrobe and wait for the clothes.

As I stood there in my new pink Victoria’s Secret bra and far too ratty underwear examining my cellulite, I decided that this was going to be a flop. Next time I would call my daughter, Mary, who is an amazing shopper and fashionista and pay her to make me cool.

20 outfits and 2 hours later I left Mandii and Personal Touch with a couple of items in hand, including two pairs of David Kahn jeans that cost more than any pair of jeans I have ever bought. I hope I like the stuff when I put it on again at home. I really don’t want to face Mandi with returns, she was so happy I bought some of the clothes she picked out. That’s me; I aim to please...everyone but myself!

Just to get my confidence back, I made my way to the shoe department. I can do shoes. There, I picked out a pair of special edition Weitzman pumps, the most expensive pair of shoes I’ve ever bought. I left Nordstrom’s poorer and wiser, with a great pair of pumps.