August 18–24, 2003 — I told you to leave me

I am very good at putting off the things I hate to do, so even though my cousin’s wedding was to take place on August 23, I waited until August 22 to buy a collared shirt, twitching a bit while handing my credit card to a cashier at the Gap and thanking him for the coupon entitling me to $10 off a pair of jeans.

But I guess that’s not the entire truth — this was the third trip I’d made to a mall in an effort to buy a shirt with a collar for less than $50. I went to multiple stores, learned my neck size, tried on many shirts and never found one I liked. Most shirts looked like they could fit two of me, and I kept ending up with cuffs that I didn’t understand the workings of or collars that looked a bit more modern and fashionable than I felt I was capable of being.

Then I went to Club Monaco and was helped by a nice fellow who ended every sentence directed at me with “man” in an attempt to build a rapport. I agreed with him in rejecting French cuffs as being “last season” and asked what he would suggest for a wedding that I might be able to wear days or months later and on less formal occasions. I tried on several shirts that, on the plus side, didn’t look like they could fit two of me and that I could almost see myself wearing at more than weddings and funerals. Unfortunately, the one I liked most was $89, and I couldn’t find room for it in the budget. I thanked my new friend Alex and listened as he gushed about a new fit of jeans to a woman with whom his rapport-building strategy seemed a bit different.

A couple of days later, I forced myself to go into a nearby Gap store to look for a shirt. I had never shopped at the Gap before, and I am not proud of the person I have become. I tried on a collared shirt, size extra-small, and found it fit alright and was within my shirt-buying budget.

But I couldn’t force myself to buy it. So I left. I tried to talk my mom into bringing me one of my dad’s shirts — then I wouldn’t be to blame if I looked foolish, and I wouldn’t have to spend any money. But my mom was insistent, telling me I would need to own a collared shirt one of these days; she told me I had to buy a collared shirt the next day.

And so, incapable of going into another mall and “shopping,” I walked to the closest Gap location, found an exact duplicate of the shirt I’d tried on a few days earlier at a different location, tried it on again, sulked for awhile in the fitting room and worked up the nerve to buy it.

The next morning I left for Peterborough to meet my parents on the way to the wedding. My bus was scheduled to leave at 12:45 pm, and missing it would have meant causing my family to be late for the wedding. I arrived 25 minutes early, and it took 24 minutes to reach the front of the line to buy a ticket. I ran for the bus and was the last person on. (I sometimes think about the car accidents I’ve been in and all the things that could have been worse; this was a bit like that — I thought about having been one minute later and the looks on my parents’ faces as I arrived in Peterborough two hours late. I promised myself to allow more time in the future.)

The wedding was outside of Peterborough, and we were staying the night. I changed into my new shirt and put on a tie that my parents had brought along for me. I adjusted my shirt a lot and never felt all that comfortable in it. I also found that I looked a lot better in the mirror by my bed than I did in the bathroom mirror, which I tried to avoid looking at.

The wedding was outdoors. It was a nice wedding, as far as weddings go. I’ve been to two now, both for cousins. Even if I could imagine someday marrying someone, I could never imagine being part of the sort of wedding that I’ve attended. Though maybe I should return to that first part: With each wedding I attend, I feel more confident that I’ll never have one of my own.

After the ceremony, I looked at food I couldn’t eat and drinks I couldn’t drink. (Or maybe I mean wouldn’t, not couldn’t — as my sister was keen to remind me, it’s about time that I grow up.) And there was a DJ who refused to play my request for “Blue Monday” by New Order even though he had it with him; I had to settle for “True” by Spandau Ballet instead.

Then I changed back into a t-shirt and sat on the stairs of the inn reading and writing and hoping I would be able to alter my sleep schedule a bit to make less unbearable the task of waking up at 7:30 am the next day. I failed, and on the bus back to Toronto, I bunched up my collared shirt (being careful to hide the Gap tag on the inside) and used it as a pillow.