Chapter 1: How’d I Get Here?
I stood there engrossed in my reflection for several minutes before I was summoned out of my headspace by the perky saleswoman knocking on my dressing room door.
“How’s everything coming along, Candace? Can I get you anything?”
I switched from fussing with the midsection of the fitted top I had on to pulling at the baggy hips of the pale blue capris and replied, “No, thank you. I think I’m done for today.”
I’d been shopping for several hours and had grown too tired and hungry to continue trying on clothes. I decided to call it quits and grab lunch at one of my favorite nearby cafés, Sophia’s.
I changed back into the distressed jeans and flowy blouse I’d worn into the store, then clumsily made my way out of the dressing room with the day’s finds. That’s when I noticed the stealthy sales ninja had hung the most adorable striped top on the back of the door. I momentarily hated her for it since I had full blown shopper’s fatigue and trying it on would delay lunch.
I took a deep breath before disrobing once again. After guiding the adorable shirt over my disheveled head, I was in love all over again. A wave of gratitude washed over me knowing my efforts weren’t in vain. However, I soon found myself tugging at the sleeves, which were slightly too short for me. I beckoned the sales ninja for assistance.
As she stood just outside my open dressing room, I explained, “I love this blouse you picked out for me.” My left hand began tugging at the sleeve again, “but it’s a Petite, so the sleeves are too short. Do you have the same one in misses?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know if we do offhand,” she replied. “If you have a minute, I can check the store for you!” Before I could even respond, the legs on her roughly 4’11” frame had carried her halfway towards the showroom. I closed the door to my personal dressing room and began my final disrobing before lunch. She returned with only regret for not having my size in stock. To ease my obvious disappointment, she assured me I could order the appropriate size during checkout and have it shipped to my home for free.
I tossed my floral blouse back on for the last time that day and officially departed the dressing room. My gracious shopping assistant offered to carry my new haul to the counter and order the striped top. My growling stomach implored me to accept her help so I could head to lunch.
A shopping trip for a single item had grown considerably, as was evidenced by the eight large bags I was carrying. An assortment of lingerie, activewear, and summer apparel had been carefully threaded onto my arms to avoid shredding the tissue paper each item had been painstakingly wrapped in. I frequently peeked at each bag on my way through the mall to ensure everything was intact and I hadn’t left more than a small trail of confetti behind me. In doing so, I began recalling each of the items I’d purchased and wondered whether the outing had been a success. I’d set off on a quest to find some sexy, yet classy, lingerie for a very special occasion and wound up with half of my new summer wardrobe. Had I gone overboard?! I tried to relax by reminding myself that I was starting a new chapter in life, and it was a necessity—albeit a privileged one—to dress the part.
Simply recalling each of the purchases slowly led me into a mental tailspin that had the potential to bring me down hard. The little devil inside my head questioned if I looked half as attractive in my new, skimpy clothes as I thought I did. The rush of harsh doubts prompted me to shake my head ever so slightly to stop the internal chatter in its tracks and regain focus on navigating my way through the crowded mall.
I was close to my destination when I’d successfully squashed the devil of doubt and was immersed in the present again.
Then I had a moment.
It was one of those moments when your mind—or possibly soul—makes you acutely aware of your present experience by blocking out everything else around you. The details of my surroundings were suddenly blurred, and I felt like I was moving in slow motion.
It was in that slow-motion moment when it registered for me that I was living a dream I’d forgotten I’d ever longed for. That realization stopped me in my tracks.
When I watched Pretty Woman for the first time, I was too young to appreciate the nuances of the story. I understood a romance was unfolding on screen, but the only turn-on for me was the glamorous shopping spree. As a kid without my own money or a wealthy family, it was my version of a wet dream.
My adult self appreciated the full cost of this seemingly frivolous experience but allowed my inner child a minute to savor the feeling of fulfilling her fantasy. I took a couple deep breaths and recentered myself in gratitude for where I was in life before I tossed it all on the back burner and continued my beeline to Sophia’s.
Upon arriving at the quaint cafe, the hostess assessed the size of my newly acquired luggage and guided me to a plush corner booth on the far side of the dining room. That area is usually reserved for larger parties, but it appeared to be the only spot spacious enough for me and my ridiculous riches. She kindly helped me unload my bags on one side of the grey leather booth before handing me a menu and running through the daily specials.
Ravenous, I kindly asked my server for a glass of water and their delicious breadbasket to hold me over while deciding on my entrée. Then I turned my attention back to the menu in search of something enticing. Before I even made it through the salad selections, I was distracted by a boisterous cackle from across the restaurant. I looked over and saw a group of middle-aged women enjoying lunch together. I giggled to myself thinking of what those Mitsies must’ve been laughing at before turning my attention to the menu once again.
I ordered a pomegranate spritzer and Caesar salad, then dove face-first into the warm bread that had just been delivered. The butter melted as quickly as I dabbed it on. What a turn on for a hungry woman. With my mouth full of fresh-baked carbs, I licked the excess butter from my thumb and checked my phone. I’d ignored the outside world while trying on every piece of clothing in the mall and thought it was time to reconnect. Cell service was slow, though. I was too impatient to deal with that, so I set my phone on the bench beside me. I turned my attention to the contemporary artwork and clean white candles that adorned the charming space. The simplicity was soothing; a great place to reset my energy after a busy morning.
I was about halfway into my drink when I glanced across the table at my shopping bags and pondered how life had led me to such a place—to my Pretty Woman moment in time. How had I become a woman in my late-thirties living with a wealthy man, possessing a doctoral education but with no real career to call my own, having no idea where I was headed in life, no family to call my own… just sitting here in a cafe full of ladies who lunch?
The sensation of joy I’d felt just minutes earlier when I’d realized I was walking in Vivian Ward’s footsteps soon faded and a quiet sadness came over me.
I alternated between slowly nibbling what was left of my bread, sipping my mid-day mocktail, and slicing the whole romaine leaves that comprised my Caesar salad. My mind wandered back to some of the events that led me to that particular moment in that booth …among the Mitsies… living that life…