All Hail the Republic.

The Banana Republic, that is.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I found myself in the position of having to drive 3 hours to attend an awards ceremony for my dear husband last week. The night before I was supposed to go, I spent a few minutes looking through my closet and assessing my wardrobe possibilities.

Greg and I have spent a little bit of time in the last few weeks organizing our closet. He had some clothes in there that he has had since high school. The man is approaching 40, and he finally decided to get rid of some of them. Not, mind you, because they don't fit anymore. Oh no no no, that wasn't the problem. They were just, well, old. And ratty. And high school ish.

I did not have any clothes from high school. I threw those out long ago- long before they wore out, because in my case they just didn't fit anymore. I was a size zero back then. Then I stopped dancing, grew a few curves, and oh yes, got pregnant. Twice. The clothes I had a year ago don't fit anymore. OK, so that is a good thing because a year ago I was pregnant. The clothes I had- (lets think, Juliette is 34 months old, I was 9.5 months pregnant with her so that makes it...) 4 years ago don't fit anymore.

So after two hours of ripping down everything that seemed business casual- and even some things that didn't fit that description but at least weren't jeans- I was highly PO'd. And a little bit panicked. Greg was going to look awesome- I knew this because he recently took an interest in his appearance and went on a shopping spree, spending I won't tell you how much on a new business wardrobe. And that includes shoes. After hearing how much money he spent on a single pair of shoes, let me just say this: he can never ever again criticize me for having too many shoes.

So Monday rolls around and I drop the girls off at daycare, growing a little weepy as I leave because I am not going to see them for 2 whole days, run into lab to look like I am working at least a little bit, and then set off for my three hour drive, interrupted by a short stop at the mall to find something to wear.

I stopped at a mall that is near my old Alma Mater, Mount Holyoke College. I parked near, and walked right through, JC Penney, on my way to Ann Taylor. Gap was my next choice, then the department stores. However, I was sidetracked when I saw the window of The Banana Republic. In I went. And there I stayed. For 2 hours. In the dressing room. The sales guys just kept bringing me more things to try on. And complimenting me. It turned out that size 4 didn't fit. Too bad. I needed a size smaller. Haha! Yesiree, that put me in a very good mood, a mood to buy. Which I did. I mean, Greg did. He pays the AmEx bill, not me. Then, while I went to buy a new pair of shoes to match my new outfit, the wonderful salesmen steamed my two outfits (the one I wanted to wear and one backup, pending Greg's approval) so that they would be ready to wear. And the skirt. And the other pair of pants. And the two other shirts.

And it was worth it. I wish I could find a picture of the jacket I wore, but it doesn't seem to be on line. However, I know I looked good. I felt good. I was on a post-shopping high. It is so nice to go shopping and be happy with how things look instead of being all depressed that things don't fit anymore; I'm sure it helps that I was at a good store and not trying to find things on the cheap at Marshalls. (I'm not knocking Marshalls, but it is becoming harder and harder to find clothes that I like that also fit). I just wish the Republic would open in the mall near me. But, maybe it is safer that it is not too close. Greg would regret giving me permission to "buy what you need." Because Greg, like all men, doesn't realize that sometimes you really do need to shop.

On a side note, I just found out that there is a truly awesome Banana Republic in the city. Next time I find myself with some spare time in NYC, you will know where to find me. And it won't be at Century 21 again.