Excuse Me, Is My Skirt Down In The Back?

I check the wind speed before I get dressed.  It occurred to me today, that probably, men don’t do that. Are you thinking it’s a hair issue? You’d be wrong. It’s a skirt/dress issue. No A-line skirts if the wind is picking up, because I kind of lose my mind if my dress or skirt starts flying up, while I’m walking down the street. I still wear dresses and skirts on windy days, but they are pencil skirts or straight shift dresses where only the hem might have the ability to fly up.

I have a little problem with the obsession I’ve been told. It has been described as a phobia.  If you are walking with me, I’m going to ask you if my skirt or dress is down in the back-wind or no wind-and maybe more than once. I can’t stop myself.  If I’m really feeling nervous about it and I’m alone, I will ask a stranger. “Is my skirt down in the back?” They don’t like it, in case you’re wondering.  I try to not do that much anymore, if I can help it and instead I try to get a glimpse of my reflection in a window of a building.  Yes, it’s down, phew.

 

 

The Forever Mr. Irresistible

 One very big problem is my crappy excuse for a vacuum cleaner.  It’s more like an electric broom, if I’m being honest, but really it’s almost useless. I went over a sesame seed bit about 20 times and still it wouldn’t suck it up and then I just bent down it plucked it into the trash.   I’ve been Swiffering the heck out of the place and then using a little hand broom to get any holdouts.  Last night I ordered one of those Dyson vacuums, hoping it helps me out.  I don’t have carpet but these are supposed to work on all floor surfaces and omg, the price.  I tried not to think about what clothes that would buy because it would be tempting…but the dust  has to go. I am repulsed by it and it isn’t healthy anyway.

I’m recovering from my clothes shopping trip yesterday-very rough. I need warm weather clothes.  The mirrors and lighting in the fitting room at Ann Taylor are very forgiving as well as Banana  Republic, but Nordstrom!  Nordstrom has nice fitting rooms but looking at yourself is like seeing a promotional clip from a horror movie.  Every flaw, every single ripple, discoloration, you name it.  One look in the mirror and my eyes wide with horror, mouth open in disbelief, wtf- I had no idea that I looked this bad.  I mean I have a mammoth 7 ft mirror in my bedroom right next to the windows and I have stood there naked in natural light and have never seen that sight before.  Funny how I didn’t see it an hour before in the other fitting rooms. 

Now I have to see what I can salvage of my body before I take a trip to the beach.  Yes, I’m going to the beach, even though I am not a beach person.  The swimsuit issue has me a little unnerved.  I knew I had issues before but never issues like I saw yesterday. blech.

A couple of days ago my special friend who I said I wasn’t going to see anymore texted and wanted to get together.  I said no, but then I said maybe in a few days.  So today we were supposed to get together but he texted yesterday that he only had a small window of time and asked if I would be ok with that and I said -prob not -that’s it, that’s all I said.  About 45 minutes later he got back with some excuses and I don’t mean that in a negative way-it’s just he tried to explain.  I didn’t text back.  I’m thinking that was the final curtain call.  I did get the idea from previous experiences with him that he’s bothered if he thinks you’re disappointed in him, so I half expect to hear from him.  If I do hear, he will hit the topic head on-am I upset with him?  The answer is no.  I really didn’t want to see him, but at the same time I always want to see him.  He is irresistible and I think I’ve made that clear.  I think it  is probably a good time to bring it to a conclusion since we hardly ever see each other.  I think the relationship has run its course, not that I won’t miss it, but as I lay soaking in a bubble bath last night I kept thinking…I’m tired, I’m so tired.

Sashay, Sashay

Did I ever tell you the real reason I stopped using Bag  Borrow or Steal?  It had nothing to do with Bag Borrow or Steal, I think their company works pretty well.  It all had to do with a realization during a Saturday morning train ride of who I really am as a person.  And I’m not that.

Late one Saturday morning three 30 something women got on the train a stop after me and though they were together  sat in 3 different seats-what I mean is “not together”, which is no big deal because this is a free country except when more people got on the train; they took a seat next to the women.  What could be wrong with that, you ask?  I saw the one woman actually look down her nose at the woman who took the seat next to her, as if, eww, why are you sitting next to me? Now I’m entranced with these women, I mean if whomever sits with you is a problem, then sit with your freaking friend, right?

Now that they had my attention, the second thing that popped out at me was the women’s flaunting of their designer garb.  All had the oversized Chanel sunglasses, which looked stupid on all 3.  One brandished a huge Gucci belt. All 3 had expensive designer handbags.  I could forgive all except for their conversation and that’s what made everything unforgivable.  Seeing that they sat apart and  one sat across the train aisle; it meant they had to talk loud, so all of us in the car fell victim to their conversation.

One was particularly vile to me as she insulted a co-worker relentlessly mostly because of his weight.  She even went as far as to bloat her cheeks and do a little skit imitating him.  Her friends giggled and that’s another thing that galls me, when grown women think they have to cackle at every phrase someone says, because after-all it’s Saturday and they are all out to have fun and that’s what fun IS-giggling all over the place.

The conversation continued and they began to discuss their hired help-meaning housekeepers.  One had lost hers and she needed another, so the most gruff one recommended hers.  “Is she key worthy?”  the housekeeperless inquired.  “I gave her my key.”  the gruff one replied, while shrugging her shoulders.  Now the key worthy part was just  like running a hot blade down my spine and I felt the acid rise up in my throat.

The most gruff one began to criticize the tall thin one about using coupons….she didn’t find it cool.  All this almost made me yearn for the monthly lunatic  encounter,

~like the one day when a man took over our car ranting, “Obama, don’t like none of y’all, ok.”  Then encapsulated the woman behind me in her seat insisting she was Hilary Clinton and why wasn’t she at work-even though the woman was African-American and well…scared.  She only weighed probably 102 lbs and this man was about 6’3 and a massive hunk of crazy.  I visualized he had a machete hidden somewhere and would soon take it out and cut us all down. ~

But these women were less likable than that man, is the point I want to make.

So what in heaven’s name does all this have to do with Bag Borrow or Steal anyway?  What imprinted on me  most was their display of designer wear and how I couldn’t get it out of my mind how they might be posers using Bag Borrow or Steal because they couldn’t really afford it, like me.  At the time I was also a poser; because I was sporting my ultra cool bracelet from Bag Borrow or Steal-that indeed, I could not afford.  Then the hens came home to roost.  I, sitting there on the train realized who I was.  I cannot afford Chanel, I cannot afford Prada and lastly don’t really like the flaunting of the brand logos as if you are something special.  I don’t really like status symbols- I confess.  So why would I ever pretend I could afford them and use Bag Borrow and Steal’s service to make it look like I could?  That is not me.  I didn’t want to be “those” women.  Maybe they owned their shit outright but I couldn’t help but think if they were that well off why weren’t they driving their beamer or luxury Mercedes and not slumming it on the subway?  It didn’t matter, because they were everything I never wanted to be.

I started thinking how I’ve always bought from independent artists and why would I want to change that?  I was doing pretty well with my choices.  I get a profuse amount of compliments  on my handbags and jewelry.  At the Christmas party in December the compliments didn’t stop about my necklace bought from an artist on Etsy.  I think I’m doing pretty well on my own, without the  help of the top names dictating what is chic.  It’s mostly men who like my handbags, they especially like my messenger bag with the cool rabbit from Alice in Wonderland but it’s not the 1st bag they’ve stopped me to have a conversation about. It happens a lot.  Sure it could be all contrived to be an opening line, but I think there are too many of them choosing to have a conversation about my bag for it not to be about my bag.

My stop finally came and though I could have taken the other door where I wouldn’t have had to sashay in front of the 3 women,  that wouldn’t have been fun. So, sashay I did.  I knew on that particular day that I looked better than any of them and it was affirmed by their sudden silence as I waited by the door to exit. All without the labels except for my rented Pianegonda Bracelet, which I didn’t even think shouted designer piece.  I heard no  incessant giggling. All was right with the world once again. When I got back home, I went straight to my closet shelf, removed the small box, took off my bracelet, carefully packed it, printed The Bag Borrow or Steal label and dropped it off at the UPS store.  So there’s the real reason.