Song: Are you Ready? by Fatty Gets A Stylist
I peek into my local consignment shop Look Twice in Rockville Centre, NY (my other favorite is Revival in Roslyn, NY) and spot a cutie right away. She's on a bar full of crowded hangers but her frilly three quarter sleeve is cut on the bias and dangling at just the right angle. I take her out carefully, she's lace and delicate. I look at her label, she's lace, delicate and Anne Fontaine. Tags on, never been worn. Score. I put her on over my sundress and turn to the shop girl. 
But it's August and I have no where awesome to go to but the beach and my little Annie would be overdone to say the least. Then I ask myself, "Self, who was I just talking to at the beach about going somewhere?". I search my brains files....Jeanne Marie... the reunion!
I feel like I see most of my class regularly either by face or facebook and my boyfriend was in another grade, so it's not the type of affair that is weighing heavily on my mind. The reunion, for me, is more like a fun night out than a nerve racking nail biter. Still, I want to look gewd.
"My twenty year high school reunion is in October!" I say, expecting the shop girl to be just as excited as me.
"Perfect!" She says, just as excited as me. It's not soon, but it's awesome.
It doesn't occur to me until now that its likely sad that I am two months out from having an occassion to wear my killer blouson. Well, not really, sad. Let's not digress.
So. Last week my mom was over and I tried the top on for her. Like I said, it's all lace and well, see- thru.
"It's Anne Fontaine." I say. Staring in the mirror mesmerized, not remembering feeling this way about a shirt. "It's like a $350-$400.00 shirt. I got it for $98.00."
"It's gorgeous." She says, but her face doesn't match her words."What will you wear underneath it?"
I am looking in the mirror at the way the poet collar rolls and falls over me and thinking maybe I could get away with wearing nothing underneath it. We fit so well, it would be a shame to shove a camisol in between us. My head angling left than right. I am not sure I see anything indescent. I think it looks, sexy.
"I don't know, I feel like I might as well, in ten years no ones going to want to look at them anyway."
"I feel like I don't want to look at them now." She says.
I shoot her a snide sideways glance.
"What is that expression you say, "Better to be pitied than censored?"
"Why don't you get a mamogram?" she asks, optimistically.
I turn quickly and glare at her head on.
Now, you may be thinking my mother is clearly suffering a break from reality or merely switching the subject. But I can assure you, she is not. I know exactly where she is headed.
"That's a good idea." I say sarcastically. "I'll go get my ta-ta's clamped in a vice, not because I need a check up...but for the paper pasties they give you during the exam. That's normal."
My mom is laughing. I love hearing her laugh.
My mother laughed the way some ladies do ~ Paul Simon
I want her to laugh harder.
"As opposed to going to Victoria's Secret for ten minutes and twenty bucks and getting something sweet and smooth, I should make a doctors appointment, wait in the waiting room, go through a horrendous boob squishing physical, just for the stiff irritating paper bag cut outs, risking a paper cut." I say, "to wear under my shirt on a big night out!"
She is laughing really hard now. I love hearing her laugh.
"I bet they could get you in this week." she says, dabbing a laugh tear.
"When people ask me why I'm crazy?" I say, "I'm pointing to you."
"Okay" She says, shrugging her slim shoulders, "I don't mind."
Please leave a comment here. I am trying to build a community on the blog page and can't figure out how to transfer facebook comments. Plus, as a bonus, if you post anonymous no one has to know you like me. Thanks!
I peek into my local consignment shop Look Twice in Rockville Centre, NY (my other favorite is Revival in Roslyn, NY) and spot a cutie right away. She's on a bar full of crowded hangers but her frilly three quarter sleeve is cut on the bias and dangling at just the right angle. I take her out carefully, she's lace and delicate. I look at her label, she's lace, delicate and Anne Fontaine. Tags on, never been worn. Score. I put her on over my sundress and turn to the shop girl. 
"Where." I ask. "Am I wearing her?"
"Somewhere awesome and soon." She says.
"Totally." I say, noticing the shop girls nineteen-forties style, "Aren't you a kick?"
"Well." She says.
We both laugh.
I feel like I see most of my class regularly either by face or facebook and my boyfriend was in another grade, so it's not the type of affair that is weighing heavily on my mind. The reunion, for me, is more like a fun night out than a nerve racking nail biter. Still, I want to look gewd.
"My twenty year high school reunion is in October!" I say, expecting the shop girl to be just as excited as me.
"Perfect!" She says, just as excited as me. It's not soon, but it's awesome.
It doesn't occur to me until now that its likely sad that I am two months out from having an occassion to wear my killer blouson. Well, not really, sad. Let's not digress.
So. Last week my mom was over and I tried the top on for her. Like I said, it's all lace and well, see- thru.
"It's Anne Fontaine." I say. Staring in the mirror mesmerized, not remembering feeling this way about a shirt. "It's like a $350-$400.00 shirt. I got it for $98.00."
"It's gorgeous." She says, but her face doesn't match her words."What will you wear underneath it?"
I am looking in the mirror at the way the poet collar rolls and falls over me and thinking maybe I could get away with wearing nothing underneath it. We fit so well, it would be a shame to shove a camisol in between us. My head angling left than right. I am not sure I see anything indescent. I think it looks, sexy.
"I don't know, I feel like I might as well, in ten years no ones going to want to look at them anyway."
"I feel like I don't want to look at them now." She says.
I shoot her a snide sideways glance.
"What is that expression you say, "Better to be pitied than censored?"
"Why don't you get a mamogram?" she asks, optimistically.
I turn quickly and glare at her head on.
Now, you may be thinking my mother is clearly suffering a break from reality or merely switching the subject. But I can assure you, she is not. I know exactly where she is headed.
"That's a good idea." I say sarcastically. "I'll go get my ta-ta's clamped in a vice, not because I need a check up...but for the paper pasties they give you during the exam. That's normal."
My mom is laughing. I love hearing her laugh.
My mother laughed the way some ladies do ~ Paul Simon
I want her to laugh harder.
"As opposed to going to Victoria's Secret for ten minutes and twenty bucks and getting something sweet and smooth, I should make a doctors appointment, wait in the waiting room, go through a horrendous boob squishing physical, just for the stiff irritating paper bag cut outs, risking a paper cut." I say, "to wear under my shirt on a big night out!"
She is laughing really hard now. I love hearing her laugh.
"I bet they could get you in this week." she says, dabbing a laugh tear.
"When people ask me why I'm crazy?" I say, "I'm pointing to you."
"Okay" She says, shrugging her slim shoulders, "I don't mind."
Please leave a comment here. I am trying to build a community on the blog page and can't figure out how to transfer facebook comments. Plus, as a bonus, if you post anonymous no one has to know you like me. Thanks!
1 comment:
as always, a terriffic blog. love it, love you. mom
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