Holding Back the Years
This morning I wore my Pet Me sweater.
It's a lovely sweater in a beautiful eggshell color, all soft and smooth (hence the "Pet Me" portion of the title), ribbed all around with what I think is a boat-neck collar, although considering the fact that my idea of high fashion is wearing a black turtleneck and leather car coat over my tan khakis, I may be wrong on that collar type but whatever - I love the darned thing, and today was the first time it's been chilly enough to justify wearing it. The problem is that it no longer fits me.
That collar is meant to be worn where the edges just barely hang on to the ends of your shoulders; they aren't meant to spill over, the neckline in an even line straight across just below the joint. It's still a beautiful sweater, it doesn't flash boob or anything, but it's obvious that the thing is well on its way to being too big to wear, but until it falls down around my ankles, I'm going to keep wearing it. I just am, ok?
Except maybe not in public, because as soon as I shed my coat this morning our assistant cracked wise: "Well Tess, you're totally sporting that 80s look, huh?" I was almost offended. Almost. I mean, I bought this sweater -maybe- an hour after stepping off the plane and heading immediately to the Buffalo Galleria all of two years ago; that hardly qualifies as "80s" genre. However, he kind of has a point. As the day wore on I found myself pulling the neckline up countless times, over and over and over again, and I grudgingly conceded that maybe -maybe- it was getting to be a little too Flashdance for comfort. I didn't tell him that I was silently agreeing with him, but the thought was there.
However, I refuse to acknowledge his expertise on 80s clothing - he was born in 1984; that hardly qualifies him as an expert by any stretch of the imagination. If he wants to recognize true 80s style he needs to rent Weird Science, which is what my boyfriend forced me to watch with him last night, after which we indulged in a rousing post-movie discussion involving a lot of emphatic statements ("We never dressed like that in the 80s!") and enthusiastic rebuttals ("Please, Baby - I've got pictures...."), then we laughed and we laughed until we couldn't laugh anymore. Once our young assistant rents the stupid thing he'll realize that although the sweater may currently hint at bits of the 80s, we really need some leg-warmers and ankle-fold ultra-suede kid boots to complete the image.
Yes, today was an interesting day.
Right now I'm sitting in the office at Mom's house working on my wishlists for the few people who asked what I wanted for my birthday (Books, Movies, Other Fancy Stuff, Callum Keith Rennie and this apron). I just finished putting together my box of food to send down to Florida, since it won't get there until after I do if I procrastinate any longer, and I've got to head to bed shortly to stare at the ceiling until my body just shuts down out of boredom because I've got to be up in less than seven hours in order to make it to the mechanic on time, far earlier than I'm used to even stirring, much less actually interacting with the world at large, but I am content.
I am always content when I get back out here to the woods, the folks, the horse, the cat, and the dog who loves me enough to snuffle contentedly at my feet as I swing my legs down from the office chair to rub her belly with my chilly toes. It's easy to relax out here, listening to House Hunters playing in the background as my mother winds down from yet another busy day of being retired. I've made it through the work day more and less intact. I've got lunches with old friends to look forward to in the very near future, and Monday seems far, far away. It seems easier to remember the person that I am, the person that I want to be, without all of the outside distractions of the city. It's quiet here - I can hear myself think.
...And all I have to do is walk down the hallway and turn on the light in my old room to remember just what it was like to dress in the 80s; after all, this is where I spent them.
That's kind of awesome.
Fer sure....
It's a lovely sweater in a beautiful eggshell color, all soft and smooth (hence the "Pet Me" portion of the title), ribbed all around with what I think is a boat-neck collar, although considering the fact that my idea of high fashion is wearing a black turtleneck and leather car coat over my tan khakis, I may be wrong on that collar type but whatever - I love the darned thing, and today was the first time it's been chilly enough to justify wearing it. The problem is that it no longer fits me.
That collar is meant to be worn where the edges just barely hang on to the ends of your shoulders; they aren't meant to spill over, the neckline in an even line straight across just below the joint. It's still a beautiful sweater, it doesn't flash boob or anything, but it's obvious that the thing is well on its way to being too big to wear, but until it falls down around my ankles, I'm going to keep wearing it. I just am, ok?
Except maybe not in public, because as soon as I shed my coat this morning our assistant cracked wise: "Well Tess, you're totally sporting that 80s look, huh?" I was almost offended. Almost. I mean, I bought this sweater -maybe- an hour after stepping off the plane and heading immediately to the Buffalo Galleria all of two years ago; that hardly qualifies as "80s" genre. However, he kind of has a point. As the day wore on I found myself pulling the neckline up countless times, over and over and over again, and I grudgingly conceded that maybe -maybe- it was getting to be a little too Flashdance for comfort. I didn't tell him that I was silently agreeing with him, but the thought was there.
However, I refuse to acknowledge his expertise on 80s clothing - he was born in 1984; that hardly qualifies him as an expert by any stretch of the imagination. If he wants to recognize true 80s style he needs to rent Weird Science, which is what my boyfriend forced me to watch with him last night, after which we indulged in a rousing post-movie discussion involving a lot of emphatic statements ("We never dressed like that in the 80s!") and enthusiastic rebuttals ("Please, Baby - I've got pictures...."), then we laughed and we laughed until we couldn't laugh anymore. Once our young assistant rents the stupid thing he'll realize that although the sweater may currently hint at bits of the 80s, we really need some leg-warmers and ankle-fold ultra-suede kid boots to complete the image.
Yes, today was an interesting day.
Right now I'm sitting in the office at Mom's house working on my wishlists for the few people who asked what I wanted for my birthday (Books, Movies, Other Fancy Stuff, Callum Keith Rennie and this apron). I just finished putting together my box of food to send down to Florida, since it won't get there until after I do if I procrastinate any longer, and I've got to head to bed shortly to stare at the ceiling until my body just shuts down out of boredom because I've got to be up in less than seven hours in order to make it to the mechanic on time, far earlier than I'm used to even stirring, much less actually interacting with the world at large, but I am content.
I am always content when I get back out here to the woods, the folks, the horse, the cat, and the dog who loves me enough to snuffle contentedly at my feet as I swing my legs down from the office chair to rub her belly with my chilly toes. It's easy to relax out here, listening to House Hunters playing in the background as my mother winds down from yet another busy day of being retired. I've made it through the work day more and less intact. I've got lunches with old friends to look forward to in the very near future, and Monday seems far, far away. It seems easier to remember the person that I am, the person that I want to be, without all of the outside distractions of the city. It's quiet here - I can hear myself think.
...And all I have to do is walk down the hallway and turn on the light in my old room to remember just what it was like to dress in the 80s; after all, this is where I spent them.
That's kind of awesome.
Fer sure....