yet another new lifestyle level
I used to think I would never wear white or cream or off-white or stone. That was before I found the buff-colored bag that matches my champagne sandals. See, I bought the sandals thinking I’d wear them with salmon and khaki and stuff like that. But today I had the life-changing new purse. So I put on the stone skirt and the off-white sweater and, goddam, I look cute. I haven’t felt this cute since Wednesday, when my shoes and bag were almost the exact same shade of light caramel/dark chamois. Just last night I was telling my friend Dat that, when I get rich, I’m going to wear beautiful picot-trimmed suits (or exciting vintage thrift store finds) with exactly matching shoes and purses. All day, every day, all the time.
This morning I ran into one of my coworkers — an older woman who is something of a bad-ass to those in the clerical circles. She told me I look “spiffy” and “summery”. I pointed out that it was all due to my new bag. Shaking her head sadly, she showed me her black workhorse of a purse, explaining that it was the only one she ever carried, no matter what. I told her I used to be that way, too, but lately I’ve taken a step up the sartorial ladder.
She said that when she was younger, her shoes and bag always matched. Her eyes focused on something just out of my reach — a young womanhood in the seventies or early eighties. “It used to be… Pink shoes? Pink purse. Slightly pearlized yellow shoes? Pearlized yellow purse…”
My mouth hung just a bit agape and my own eyes misted over as I imagined it. Pearlized yellow… oh my gosh. Was there ever really such a fabulous time in our nation’s history? I reevaluated this woman in my mind — redrew her as Jackie O. (No, wait. Who was the Jackie O. of the seventies?)
Awe-struck, I mumbled, “This matching bag is nothing… I aspire to being able to buy shoes that aren’t neutrals. Pink shoes… red shoes… That would be so freaking sweet…”
She smiled the smile of someone who has more important things to focus on, but who also fondly remembers such carefree interests. She leaves behind the phase I’m embarking on to enter a new one of her own.
But, hey… Don’t think I’m not stopping to thank God that I can afford these retarded little obsessions. Because I do, almost every time I buy a new purse.
