Before leaving last night, I tried on and discarded about five different outfits. I started with a long black silk skirt with a handkerchief hem. I remember buying it at Maxwell’s many years ago, and paying an astronomical amount for it. I even remember my rationale. “This is the kind of skirt that never goes out of style. I’ll have it forever.” It still fits, and since it’s a “special occasion” skirt, it is barely worn. Last night I put it on. Alexander doesn’t like it. “It looks too old-fashioned,” he says.” In other words, matronly. I try pairing it with my short leather jacket, but even that doesn’t work. I don’t wear it. It goes back to the closet where it will probably live forever.
Today I am going to celebrate Mother’s Day at my sister’s club. She writes to tell me the dress code, “elegant casual.” I imagine this to be cigarette pants with Chanel ballet slippers, and an exquisite white silk blouse. I own none of these items. In fact, I own nothing “elegant,” casual or otherwise.
I end up wearing my fall-winter Thakoon black skirt staple with black hose and boots (a very wintry bottom) and a bright yellow-green spring sweater. I bump into Shari on the way to the train. She sees what I’m wearing and says, “Definitely not elegant casual, more like just casual.”
We arrive at Valerie’s club and before noticing anything else, I see that not everyone has conformed to the dress code. Some people are in jeans, while others are impeccably dressed. I’m passable.
The food is great and excessive. The appetizer table is enough for a sizable dinner. Shrimp. Tuna tartare. Shrimp dumplings. Pigs in a blanket. Chopped liver. Crackers. Tomatoes and mozzarella. I eat a little of everything. I chose the lamb chops for dinner along with multiple small desserts. Despite feeling guilty for all I eat, it’s a joyous Mother’s Day with family.
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