Pigeon or Statue?

I've learned in life you have to accept that some days you're the pigeon and some days you're the statue.

Have you noticed that? I love the days where everything goes my way. But the others? Well, frankly they stink. Those are statue days.

Come on, it can't be just me. Surely, you've experienced that? No? Maybe I got your share of statue days. If so, I'd like to give them back.

Like the other day. I decide I need to start getting ready for the writers conference I'm going to in September. I need a pair of shoes that are both comfortable but stylish. I've given up on the 6" heels. My feet too small to do those. Besides, I have to be able to walk. With heels longer than my legs, it wouldn't be a pretty sight.

And what happened to style in a lower heel? It's nonexistent. All the shoes I see are either orthopedic or downright dangerous. I give up on the shoes and decide to try on a couple of new tops to go with my nifty travel pants.

Now, I've been sweating to the oldies at Curves for 8 years. I've lost a lot of inches but not a lot of pounds. But that's okay. It's the dress size that matters, right? And if anyone gets nosy, I keep a stack of old size tags to sew into my new clothes.

Because the good Lord—and my mother—endowed me abundantly, I wear a different size pants than top. I'm no Dolly Parton, but I do have to buy separates. The thing that really bugs me is the same machine that's supposed to remove the rolls on my back also increases the bust. Go figure.

So, I'm in the department store. Having left the shoe section empty-handed, I head toward the tops. I have a long, black, shimmery skirt for the awards banquet with a long, flowing, black and white, chiffon, long sleeved jacket to go with it. I decided a sparkly red blouse would be the perfect addition to finish the outfit.

You think I can find one? Ha! It's a statue day. I should give up and go home, because everything I see that is remotely within 30 miles of what I want is made for a 17 year-old body. We won't discuss my age – but 17 passed donkey's years ago.

I take several into the dressing room. I hate mirrors in dressing rooms. They reflect the twisting gyrations I go through to get the first one on. It refuses to go past my armpits. The second one resembles a potato sack. Not the look I'm going for.

The next one is open to my navel. I look down. My outie became an innie 10 pounds ago. Daunted but not out yet, I hit all the major department stores at the Mall of Georgia. Nada. Zip. Absotootinglutely nothing. I go home in a grumbling funk. It's definitely a statue day.

I don't stay down for long, so the next day, I go to another store. They had a sale on. Within 5 minutes of entering the doors, I score. A shiny red top, perfect in size and fit, and on sale. For 9 bucks. 

I love pigeon days.