Mama Mia...Make Me Over

Most of my life is spent in blue jeans, overalls, or running shorts and tennis shoes. I know, I should try to work a decent wardrobe into my daily routine here on the ranch, but it never fails that when I go to exceptional lengths to look nice, I end up having to drag around in a dirty pickup, drive a tractor, chase a horse or cow or whatever. It just doesn't work. So I'm definitely not a clothes horse. I never know exactly what to wear when I have to go to a special function with people from the outside world. I've had a terrible bone spur on my heel and yesterday bought some of those rocking orthopedic old people's shoes...in white. I didn't care. At least maybe my foot wouldn't hurt. Today when I left for OKC to attend the MBA class I still didn't care what I looked like, my foot hurt so bad. I wore the white orthopedic old people's shoes that rock and some blue jeans and a T-shirt. I forgot it was Commencement for the MBA program...until I saw everyone else in nice slacks, suits, etc. To make matters worse we had to get up in front of everyone in attendance...mostly professionals, and be interviewed by another professional... while being filmed. Humiliation doesn't describe it. It wasn't until I got up to be interviewed that I became accutely aware of my lack of taste in clothing. I suddenly felt like Elly May and Granny Clampett, mixed with Daisy Duke and Ma Kettle. To top it off my knees started shaking which accelerated the rocking motion of my white orthopedic old people's shoes. Answers to the questions the interviewer asked in front of the pained crowd seemed as difficult for me to decipher as a calculus problem. All I could concentrate on was not getting sea sick in my shoes. The poor interviewer was as pained as I was.
Afterwards, I went to the mall and wondered around. I'm just not a shopper but decided it wouldn't hurt to look. As I passed a very nice clothing store I stopped to take a look at the $9 shirts they had on a sale rack...my kind of price. As I stepped inside, the owner, a small dark lady with an Italian accent began telling me that I needed a makeover. "Do's jeeeens must go, dey have been out of style fo yeers... and oh my "de hair neeeeds cut." Talk about adding insult to injury. Well, I stayed and let her make me over. I won't tell you what that cost. More than the white rocking orthopedic old people's shoes.