A Traumatic Afternoon Shopping with My “Riz” Sister

 My sister and I left Ireland’s west coast for a nearly three hour drive to Ireland’s capitol, Dublin.  After six days of horrific Irish weather, the sun finally came out today and decided to stay directly in our path as we drove east. Suffice it to say, there was a lot of squinting and leaning forward during the drive. 

As it was already early afternoon when we arrived in Dublin and both my sister and I have been on nearly every walking tour and visited nearly every museum in the city, my sister thought that our only choice that afternoon was to shop. I would have preferred the walking tour of “St. Patrick’s Dublin” for a second time.

 It has to be said from the beginning that my sister, at age 59, is a size 6. At 62 and two sizes larger, the way in which I embrace shopping is very different than her.  I try to avoid clothes shopping unless absolutely necessary, while my sister takes it on as a professional…and I have a closet full of her purchases for me to prove it. She is always saying to me that our “window of opportunity” of looking youthful is small and we have to make the best of it. I have told her on several occasions that for years, my window has been shut, locked and the curtains have been drawn! She really, as our children say, has “riz,” which I believe is what we used to refer to people 20 years ago as being “hip”— something  I never successfully attained. While my sister’s student evaluations, as a college professor not only include rave reviews of her teaching abilities, they also nearly all say that she is the best dressed professor on campus.  In my 30 years of work evaluations, the phrase “great dresser” has never been part of my annual assessment. 

And so we were off to shop with our very different mind-frames.  In store after store, I milled around aimlessly while my sister walked around with aim and purpose, arms laden with clothes that will never fit into our already stuffed suitcases.  At one store, she held up a pair of overly high-heeled shoes and asked me, “Aren’t they fun?”  Even as I write this, I have to pause, because the only word I use in my shoe choices is “sensible.” After one unsuccessful foot surgery and toes that seem to be shifting around as we speak, my feet and the word “fun” will never be in the same sentence! I rolled my eyes at her and continued my aimless store wandering. 

Finally, five stores, four bags and three hours later, we decided to go and have a glass of wine.  For me, having a few final hours to talk and laugh with my sister was the best part of the day…and the wine was wonderful too.

And tomorrow we are off on the 9 am flight back home.  Other than the near-constant rain, the gale-force winds and the worst hat head I’ve ever had in my life, I’m leaving Ireland with a smile on my face and hoping that I can come back soon. Slainte.