I absolutely hate . . .

. . . clothes shopping. I despise it. I loathe it. And I had to go. Had to. I need something for Saturday. Not dressy but appropriate.

It doesn't matter what size I am or have been, I've always been "hard to fit."

For one thing I'm short. To make matters even worse if the bottom half fits than it's pretty much guaranteed that the upper half won't. And if I find something that fits me both on the top and the bottom, it's going to be way too long. Way too, like puddles around my feet. Saves on shoes, I guess.

Two- or three-piece mix and match is my only hope, but then there's the colors and patterns.

No, I'm not a neon sign for a Las Vegas strip joint. Sorry, I'm not a sofa, either.

Let's not forget the styles . . .

Uh, no. I'm not getting dressed up to look like Granma!

. . . or fads.

Honest, I'm really not 15!

If I can find something that fits me physically that also matches my taste, the next hurdle is price.

I am NOT paying $250 for an outfit that when the season changes in a few months will be on the sales rack for $40!

Which is pretty much what I paid today after putting together a pair of black slacks from the Summer Sales in one department, with an off-white shell, and instead of staying with off-white going instead with a coordinated (same ribbing, same material, same 60-percent-off table) deep aqua-ish "jacket."

My next expedition is for shoes and a matching purse. I know exactly what I want, but this time I don't have to go shopping. I know they're somewhere on the top shelf in the bedroom closet, which is where I stuffed all of those boxes when I retired.

All I have to do is find them.