hey, hey now...do you know who the fuck i am?
I bought new shoes yesterday -- I splurged on two pairs, actually. A pair of tan moccasins (uber comfortable), and a pair of oh-so-sexy power stilettos, in hot pink crocodile skin. I am wearing the stilettos right now, along with my new lingerie (satin trimmed in lace, what else?), underneath a black wrap dress. I am going out on the town, so as to remove the memory of that cocky Brit from my head, or at least the memory of having coffee with the Brit. I am going to get reeling-drunk and sleep in some stranger's apartment until I can walk straight, then I am going home to soak in the bath tub. And I am going to have fun. (<
Okay, so maybe I don't really want to forget the Brit. But let's keep this between you and me. My mother would be so proud; her daughter is finally thinking about keeping men for more than sex.
My mother always told me that men are pigs; never fall for their cute little idiosyncrasies and flowery words. And the funny thing is that I actually listened to her on that one. Well, I listened to her about buying clothing also (never buy anything full price, especially an item that could potentially be out of fashion next season; Saks' second-call sales are the best: just enough discount with just the right amount of merchandise to go through), but sometimes, a mother does know best on some things.
While shopping for my new shoes during my lunch break, I ran into my former-best-friend, Kara. We were roomies in college sophomore through senior year and had our lives planned out through age 45. But between senior year and going out into The Real World, both of us changed our views toward leading conventional lives. I began relish in the life of the free single girl, unattached - that summer marked the beginning of the New Me, sexually liberated and independent. She traveled to Europe for the summer, and became, well…liberated, though quite differently.
Supposedly, she had such an enlightening experience that she could no longer live Life according to this plan we had made, and went all spiritual on me. Needless to say, I followed not in her “transitional” phase, and we parted ways. The parting was sudden, but absolutely no words were spoken between the two of us to acknowledge that we were no longer best friends. One day we were meeting for our regular cocktails, the next she was packing her things and walking out the door, and it all went down to naturally that neither of us had to say anything. She just moved to downtown and I moved uptown, and that was that. Then, last week, about two years after this enlightenment, I read in the paper that she was engaged to a wealthy New Englander from an old family - the kind that vacation in the Hamptons, own a yacht, and host dinner parties as part of their social obligations. That morning, I nearly spilled my coffee in my lap while sitting at Hole in the Wall because I was laughing so hard. She had reverted back to the trusty old Life Plan that we made in college, and was engaged at just the appropriate moment accordingly.
I consider myself somewhat more successful at this whole growth and maturity thing; I can live without a plan and still make some nice money and have great men at the same time. I have everything that I want right now, including wool-lined moccasins. Carpe diem, right?
Upon seeing Kara in the shoe department at Saks, clad in a sensible circle skirt and cardigan, with a large Kate Spade bag on her arm, I nearly had a cow. I had not seen her or spoken to her in years, and yet there she was, waving to me and inviting me out for “drinks and a night just like old times.”
“Fancy seeing you in such sensible and conservative clothing out shopping uptown!” I exclaimed gleefully. I smiled so big and with such vigor that my cheeks hurt. We hugged like girlfriends do when they see each other in the shoe department at Saks, and walked out to the food court to grab some sushi.
“I read in the paper that you are engaged, Kara! I am so happy for you,” I said, over a California roll (I don’t really like raw fish…something about eating an animal that hasn’t been cooked reminds me of eating an animal that hasn’t been killed yet).
“Yes, I’m engaged to Warren Ambrose, II,” she said, blushing a little. “Planning a wedding is so stressful. Every little detail has to be taken care of. See, I wanted blood orchids for the centerpieces, but the florist I am using can only guarantee that he can get pink ones….”
And off she went about the wedding for a good 45 minutes. It was worth it though, listening to her go on about orchids and the texture of the ribbon for the dresses - I now have a trustworthy companion for a wild night on the town. It should only take a few drinks to loosen her up and bring her back to normal.
//lets all go get smashed. yeah. kisses, love