Dressing Angeline-- it's complicated

I used my first training bra as a sling shot.
I refused to wear bows in my hair, much less rollers.
"Ana, put your clothes on!" was my mother's battle cry. (It still is.)
'Dressing up' meant pairing pearls with jeans, much to my mother's horror. (Though the pearls were South Sea AA+, it made little difference.)

Yes, I was a tomboy in my youth -- and clothing, as far as I was concerned, was optional.

This had to be disappointing to generations of Cooper women, who loved their clothes as much as they loved their Saturday afternoon bridge parties and congealed salads. Oh, it was pounded into my lovely little brain at a very early age that it was 'ok' to buy expensive pieces, because they would last a lifetime as long as you took great care of them. I had my first 'Woolite' lesson at the tender age of ten. But i preferred -- strongly preferred -- my Levis and t-shirts to the designer garb that my mother was constantly stuffing into my closet.

So you can imagine everyone's surprise when, at age 17, I laid down my hard-earned money for a Victor Costa original to wear to the prom. Actually, it was marked down 75% to $80 so I had enough money left over to buy some gorgeous 4" heels, dyed to match. This dress was fabulous shade of orangey-red. A floor length sheath with a side slit up to 'there' with these extraordinary off the shoulder, pleated paper-like sleeves to the elbow. (They reminded me of those big, round Chinese lanterns.) And, of course, nothing like any of the puffed-up pastel dresses my friends were wearing. My mother, who was not at all involved in the decision-making or purchase, teared up when seeing me in it. My grandmother had to sit down with a brandy.

I couldn't tell if they were delighted or shocked. Maybe both. All I know, is that I looked stunning -- and well beyond my seventeen years.

After the impact I had, not only on them, but on the prom-goers and my after-prom boyfriend (the local vet) -- I knew that I had just begun my love affair with beautiful clothes and the Cooper women rejoiced.

The clean lines of Calvin Klein appealed to me most in my 'corporate years.' Donna Karan was also a favorite. I decided that if I were a movie star, all I would only wear Armani to the Academy Awards. But once having kids and leaving the uptown jobs . . .I was beckoned back to my twenty-five year old Levis and buttery cotton t-shirts (with occasional sinful trysts with Sundance catalog) and have been most comfortable in them until . . .well, now. My trip to Denver is to blame.

Living in a small, thriving but desolate city in the West Texas desert, it has been easy to avoid the fashionista within. Dillard's is as about as high end as a girl can get out here. And when I do manage to escape to a city, it's never about shopping. It's about exploring. Eating. Museums. Other art forms. Sports.

That is until I happened into Cherry Creek Mall. Innocently enough, I was going to the Apple store inquiring about a laptop for one of my sons. Aveda got in the way.

Damn Aveda.

Then Banana Republic (great linen pieces) and by the time I left Neiman's, my cheeks were flushed and arms full. I felt the same as if I'd eaten an entire cheesecake by myself. Guilty, satisfied and a little nauseous all at the same time.

The good news is . . .

1)I'm a bargain shopper and took full advantage of the summer sales. (NEVER do I purchase anything full price.)I didn't buy anything I didn't need.
Except for the Aveda hair stuff. And the essential oils. And the sassy yet tough Dr. Martens.

2)Cherry Creek had an entire store dedicated to . . .LEVIS! God bless them.I bought three pair. Skinny, boot skinny and straight. Size 10.

3)All of which will go nicely with my Neiman's string of freshwater pearls. This time faux.

You can't change this girl too much . . .although once I inhale a 'cheesecake' soon after I want another taste.

Somebody . . .please. Get me outta here.