Home > At Play, Post A Week 2012 > Cheetah, the Huntress

Cheetah, the Huntress

After two lunches of hunting, I returned to my desk empty handed. The mission was simple enough: find one or two well-priced blouses to perk up my fall wardrobe. I have read that a cheetah is successful in capturing its prey only in two of seven attempts. My track record might even be worse. If this were a matter of food, I would be starving to death. I passed rack after rack of dresses, skirts and blouses and fabrics that did not appeal to me. In spite of my desperation to make a purchase—just pick up something!—I could not resign myself to plunk down $50 for a blouse that looked like a well-meaning but clueless distant relative gave it to me for Christmas. If I didn’t love it in the store, would I love it any more once it’s in my closet?

Believe me, I tried. I tried in the department store and even waded through the higher-end selections while rationalizing that I would treat myself if I found anything worthy of purchase. I didn’t. I crossed the street and climbed the stairs to a boutique with a sign announcing ‘Sale’ in its window.

“Welcome,” said the salesman. “Have you been here before?”

I admitted I was new to his store.

He explained that the clothing on these racks were on consignment, as well as these and these.

“These items,” he said pointing to another rack, “are new from the designer,”

He smiled and trotted off to help a customer put a pair of boots on layaway.

I fingered through the racks. I probably could have saved myself those precious eight minutes by asking the salesman if he had anything in my size, but blinded by the hope of finding a bargain, I had not thought to ask. When another customer walked through the doors, I took the opportunity to quietly leave. That’s displacement, isn’t it?

Half of the short walk back to my office was fueled by the thought that I had no style. That must be the reason I could not find anything I liked. I watched other women walk by with their shopping trophies like lionesses bring back fresh prey back to the pride. My hands were empty. I almost stumbled on the alternative. It wasn’t that I had no style. My style just could not be bought in stores! I like that much better.

I took a mental inventory of the untouched yards of fabric I had stored up at home that would come in handy right about now. With the purchase of a few yards of lining fabric and a couple of zippers, I could add fresh, original pieces to my wardrobe. In addition, sewing had always been a free, natural stress reliever. That creative spark, kuumbah, that made my fingers eager to set themselves to the task. In fact, I was feeling better already.

When you’re in a funk, what makes you feel better?

  1. October 28, 2012 at 7:41 am

    Great post/analogy!
    I envy those who sew!! You’re limited only by imagination….not to mention you can make money stretch farther and have so many more pieces!!

    • October 28, 2012 at 9:51 pm

      Considering how long I’ve been sewing, I should be better, but I keep trying!

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: