Shopping Blues

T. and her friends in the transgendered community love parties. They live for parties. In the three months we have known each other, she has taken me to half a dozen. And every weekend, through New Year's Eve, we've got something to go to.

These parties are mostly a lot of fun, but they are not casual get-togethers. T.'s friends are mostly in the closet during the day. So when they get a chance to get out of the closet... they hit their closets with gusto. They dress to impress, and wasn't it Oscar Wilde that noted, "Nothing succeeds like excess?"

Furthermore, it tends to be more or less the same crowd, so you don't want to repeat yourself.

I'm enjoying myself thoroughly, but I'm having trouble keeping up.

Two weeks ago I wore a little gold metallic lace dress that I'd owned for years, but never been able to squeeze into until this year. I bought a pair of very high brown pumps which I dressed up with old rhinestone shoe clips. I thought I looked pretty nifty. Last week I wore a long burgundy dress I'd had someone make for me out of an old sequined sari (and a lot of facial glitter and false eyelashes). "That's interesting," said T. "I've never seen a dress like that before." I chose to take her remark as a compliment, but resolved not to wear it again (ditto the facial glitter and false eyelashes, one of which managed to come off in my drink).

"So how about next week?" I asked T. last night. "What are you wearing?"

T. was going to wear a long salmon-pink beaded gown. Oh, dear. I have nothing of comparable formality in my wardrobe. Now, mind you, I don't think we have to "match," and indeed, most of the wives (genetic women) are more relaxed about their attire than their husbands (t-girls). On the other hand, I do want T. and I to look like we're attending the same function!

After T. left this morning, I started digging through my drawers. I found a long black jersey sheath that I'd worn two years (100 pounds) ago for one of the Diva's fundraisers. I thought it might do if I just took it in on the sides and tarted it up with some rhinestone jewelry. But I wasn't crazy about it.

I braved the pre-Christmas crowds and took myself to the local mall. I tried five different stores. None of the plus size shops had anything remotely suitable. On a whim, I popped into David's Bridal. Maybe I could find a bridesmaid dress on sale or something. (I'd resolved not to spend more than $50.)

"Mother of the bride?" the clerk, her upper lip incongruously studded with what looked like a stainless steel pin, greeted me.

"Well, I was hoping for something... less matronly," I ventured.

The clerk shrugged and left me to my own devices.

I found the Clearance Rack and a dozen dresses in my size range. I tried each one on. It was demoralizing. First of all, my body is a very weird shape these days. I've lost a great deal of weight on top -- I'm a B cup now -- but I still have a very large, lumpy belly. Therefore, anything that didn't swim around my shoulders was too tight in the midsection. Second of all, the dresses were mostly velvet or charmeuse, fabrics that are unforgiving of short, portly ladies like myself. Strapless dresses look ridiculous on someone whose waist exceeds her bust. Halter tops showcase my flabby upper arms and the mottled, sun-damaged skin on my chest.

After an hour, I gave up and drove home. The black sheath will have to do.

And tonight I'm going swimming. Getting more exercise won't shrink my overstretched skin, but at least I can tone the muscles underneath.

The theme of one of the upcoming soirees is "Madame Butterfly." Of course, T. has several kimonos stashed away, but I'd look like a bag of potatoes with an obi tied around my middle. Thankfully, I've got a pair of satin "oriental" pajamas that make me feel like Anna May Wong. (OK, I know, Madame Butterfly wasn't Chinese, but surely that's in the ballpark.)

Maybe I'll have to start hitting those Eastside consignment shops...