Why do I try?
Judy Conlin
Last week, I told Nurse Judy we were going to a resort and everything would be provided for her there. We did not have to shop until I made the mistake of picking out expensive new clothes for her to show off in. She reminded me it was our country’s 250th birthday and she certainly had to have something high-end to celebrate such a great occasion.
I try hard to avoid these crises, but she always outmaneuvers me. I knew I had to take her shopping. She refused to be content with a fancy top or a lace jacket. She insisted that, for such an auspicious occasion, the only solution was long gowns. There had been no long gowns in our closet for years. I tried to explain this to her. We had developed into mature women more inclined to wear pantsuits or slacks with lacy overblouses for dress.
This, of course, was the wrong thing to say. She grew flushed at the word “mature.”
“Speak for yourself,” she shouted. “I am not a mature woman. I am in the prime of my life, and I need clothing that reflects my youthfulness and vibrancy.”
I had to agree with her on one point. She was the most immature person I had ever met. She has never grown up and lives in her fantasy of eternal youth. She does not see maturity as an asset. To her, it is a detriment — something to avoid at all costs. To her, maturity is old age.
I try to think of ways to explain this to her, but after all these decades with her, I am no closer to reasoning with her than I ever was. I decide the best course of action is to get her a long dress. I eat a hearty breakfast while she fusses about my weight, but I know I am in for a long, grueling day.
She goes from store to store and rack to rack but finds nothing she likes. Somehow, she gets me to Chico’s, which is pricier than I had in mind for one birthday party. She tries on a long, slinky number with a big price tag and immediately says, “I’ll take it.”
It was more than I wanted to pay, but being done so quickly was worth the price to me. I was breathing a sigh of relief when the clerk said, “I have this same dress in another color. Would you like to see it?”
Before I could object, the clerk was back with an even prettier gown in teal.
“Oh yes, I’ll have that one too,” Nurse Judy said with a huge smile. “I won’t have to try it on because it is the same as the other, and it fits me perfectly.”
“You don’t need two fancy gowns for one birthday,” I say, trying to sound reasonable.
“When I know where the party is, I can decide which one is most suitable, and we can return the other.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. She can be reasonable after all.
“And since we’re not sure where we will be going, we can stop at a cheaper shop and pick up some others and later return them if they don’t work out.”
I am getting a little nervous now. She has never returned a thing in her life, but I’m happy she is finally coming to her senses. I turn into the mall at her direction. A couple of hours later, we return to the car with four more long dresses. I collapse behind the wheel and drive home.
Once home, I head to the couch while Nurse Judy keeps parading by in a different gown with each pass. I am in trouble. We are not going to a party. We are not going to a resort. And Nurse Judy has six gowns that I know she will never give up. There is nowhere in our little world for her to wear them.
I lie there worrying.
“Maybe I’ll keep them all after all,” she says brightly.
I groan, even though I knew this was going to happen.
“You have nowhere to wear all those gowns,” I say.
“I’ll find somewhere,” she says. “And I can always wear them to church.”
Nurse Judy is sure going to have to spend a lot of time in church.
