Thursday, April 14, 2011

walking tall (lyn)

Beautiful spring day.  Sunny and a little cool.  I get up, step on the scale.  Today I’m 120.8.  There must be something wrong with my scale.  My hair looks like it died.  I take a shower, wash my hair, and they try some Redken product I have lying around called Extreme Deep Fuel “for very distressed hair.”  I follow the directions.  Apply to towel dried hair.  Wait 10 minutes.  Rinse.  I do all this.  My hair looks exactly the same.  Horrid.

Alexander still has a fever of 100.1.  He’s getting restless and cranky.  When I ask him a question, about anything, the response is the same, “Stop nagging me.”  I need to get out.

Penny calls and has an extra ticket to the Sculpture Objects & Functional Art Fair.  I want to go but feel too guilty leaving Alexander.  Instead, I purge my closets of coats I no longer wear.  I take four over to a designer resale shop and they reject two.  One they say is “too pilled.”  It’s only a year old.  I bought it at Maxwells, and have worn it a handful of times.  I feel the need to defend my clothes but the store clerk is intimidating and I don't.   The other reject is a ¾ length brown leather coat that I think I’ve worn twice.  This coat is noisy.  It squeaks when I wear it, so I never do.  This was rejected also, and not because of the sounds it makes.  No, this one “looks a little worn around the inside collar.”  I leave hating this snobby store.

I come home and  start looking through my shoes to see if there are any I can toss. I see a pair of beige Prada wedge sandals that I never wear.  While they look brand new, I must have bought them at least five years ago.  I put them on.  They are not comfortable (hence the reason why they look brand new), but the three-inch heels make me feel tall and sexy.

I leave them on for my half-block excursion to the bank.  I’m also wearing Lululemon black crop pants (aptly named Inspire) with a beige T and my short black motorcycle jacket.  Despite my bad hair, I feel good walking in my uncomfortable high-heeled wedges.

A friendly-looking stranger is walking toward me with her three kids.  She smiles and stops me.  She actually puts her hand on my forearm.  “Hey, I’ve been wanting to tell you, you look great.”  I swear, I have never seen her before.  “You live in my building,” she says, "And I've  noticed that you’ve lost a lot of weight.”  I am speechless.  “You look so sassy,” she says, and walks on with her kids.

I think I'll be wearing these shoes more often.

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