From the blindingly shiny pile of abandoned clothes currently covering my closet floor, one might be inclined to make some assumptions.
One of them might be, “I’ll bet she goes to a lot of fancy galas.” Another could be, “Damn, that woman will buy anything that has even a single sequin sewn onto it.”
Only one of these assumptions is accurate.
(I do not go to fancy galas ever.)
I do, I like sequins. Also I’m not afraid to wear them in the middle of the day, for instance on skirts that are two sizes too big, paired with a wife beater and flip-flops. That said, there’s something about a certain too-sheer, too-long sequin tank I bought that just doesn’t work in the casual going-to-Costco way I need it to.
Admit it: If you bumped into me wearing this at Starbucks, you’d immediately stop me and ask me where I was going.
“Um, just here to get my unicorn frappuccino on,” I’d reply breezily.
“No, I mean after,” you’d press.
“To pick up my kids?” I’d intonate, hoping I haven’t forgotten something.
“After that then,” you’d demand, starting to get annoyed.
“Home to make tacos,” I’d explain, wondering if you’d been hitting the schnapps again.
“WELL WHERE WERE YOU BEFORE?” Now you’re shouting at me in Starbucks and people are staring and I know I should just walk away but you know me. I’m not about to let you have the last word.
“I was getting my goddamned car washed why are you grilling me when I just want my frappuccino?” I yell back, twice as loud as you because that’s how you did it in my house growing up*.
Then you hrumph and call me rude before turning and storming off while muttering something about batshit crazy ladies under your breath.
And since I really like you and I value our friendship, I’m just going to get rid of this so we can make sure that never happens.
*Please read any of my nonfiction books or see this shopping is my therapy post for more on my childhood dysfunction. And don’t forget to share this blog with your friends!