Off the Rack

As a female who doesn't like to shop, I am a bit of a traitor to my sex.

But sometimes a companion needs to go to Diversity Thrift and why would I not at least browse through the dress choices?

It's not like the pants hold any interest for me.

Among a lot of school marm-looking dresses, I found a couple of things worth trying on because you never really know until you see something on your own body.

The first, a black and red print dress had a vaguely European peasant look to it, not my usual style.

On the other hand, I'd look right at home in Italy in it.

The other was more of a dressing gown with a prairie look. Again, not my style.

So now I can look right at home on the prairie, too.

Maybe it was the heat that had me imagining myself in different ways.

Lunch followed at Lunch where, conveniently, it was happy hour.

The Wolf Trap White Blend from South Africa jumped out at us both for its grapes: viognier, chenin blanc and grenache blanc.

It had everything: floral notes, a woody nose and nicely balanced acidity, making it a fine August afternoon indulgence.

While revisiting the '80s via the restaurant's soundtrack, we tried new-to-us sandwiches like the Parker Field and the 10K.

I know from my Richmond-born father that Parker Field disappeared long before I arrived and I did once walk a 10K, so that was enough justification for our choices.

A few other tables joined us in our late afternoon meal, although no one seemed to be enjoying Men at Work and Depeche Mode quite as much as we were.

We opted out of dessert only because I had homemade peach ice cream in the freezer at home.

With my peach allergy, I shouldn't be eating it in the first place, but the richness of peaches and cream is too alluring.

After the amount I dared to eat, I could have one of two problems.

One, my tongue will swell and my mouth will itch in reaction.

Two, my fitted little peasant dress will display a slightly more well-rounded peasant in it.

Sometimes a woman's just got to take those chances.

Eavesdropping at Diversity Thrift

For me, shopping at Diversity Thrift is not just about buying clothes, although it does save my ass since I refuse to shop at malls or real clothing stores.

Part of it is the whole reuse, and recycle thing; the other part is just that I truly detest the conspicuous consumer mentality and don't want any part of it.

But I'm not a guy and sometimes I want new-to-me clothes to wear and that's when I head to the cultural wonderland that is Diversity Thrift.

It was obvious that lots of other people besides me had decided that the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon was thrifting, maybe for some warmer weather attire now that the constraints of winter appear to be behind us.

I'm tired of padding my body with endless layers just to leave the house.

Walking into the women's clothing area, I encountered a threesome of girls busy perusing and comparing notes on their finds.

"Isn't this such an Amanda shirt?"
"How about this one? Come on, this sweater has balls on it!"
"Hey, lady, are you afraid of balls?"
"No, I'm okay with balls."
"I only have issues with people who think with them."



That's what I'm talking about; Diversity is as enjoyable for the great bargains as for the social observations.

And another twosome:

"How about this? Would you wear this?"
"Come on, just because I'm from Florida doesn't mean I dress like a mom!"
"But you said you were looking for some mom jeans."
"Yea, I am getting kind of a pooch lately."



Meanwhile, I've found all kinds of great stuff in my size and have to leave this fascinating cultural study to try them on.

 At the register, I'm behind an old guy who is telling the cashier that every item he wants to buy has come from the half-off table and she's challenging him on most of them.

He finally gets a smile out of her by insisting that they should have come off the half-price table because he's a poor man and needs a deal.

When it's my turn, I get two dresses, two skirts and two tops for $15.23.

I'd call that a deal, no poor-mouthing required.

And the overheard conversations?

Priceless.