I was driving home from our boat haul-out chore when I saw a sign for an estate sale. I had an hour to spare, so what the hell. It was a house in the Shores with the usual For Sale sign; I’d seen the listing for it earlier and remembered the ad mentioned a wide variety of designer clothes. I was actually looking for my usual — a lovingly used copper gratin pan, some interesting glass for my sister, whatevah — and not the clothes. Designer clothes are bought by skinny bitches, not women like me. So I approached the closet expecting to find the usual size zero, 2 and 4. Imagine my surprise when I grasped the first item, an Escada shell of wool, cashmere and silk, and glanced at the size:
That’s a European 46. Size L/XL in the U.S. A rich lady of normal size! Oh, happy day!
Not only that, she also had either a shopping problem or was one of those women who motivates herself to lose weight by buying nice things in a smaller size and hanging them in the closet as a goad. Because her stuff ranged from size 12 to 20, and much of it was NWT — new with tags. As in, never worn. As in:
That’s a pair of Miu Miu satin platform heels, probably about $375 in the store, never worn. Regrettably, just a hair too small for me. Because while that’s not a pair of shoes a girl needs, exactly, that is a pair of shoes that can change one’s life. (Yes, yes, a broken ankle is life-changing, too.)
As for me, I went through everything and tried on a lot. But I restricted myself to things I would really, actually wear. (Just because it says Lanvin on the label doesn’t make it so.) Came home with the original Escada shell and a Max Mara black cashmere sweater, NWT, for fifty bucks. I passed on the Ralph Lauren black label evening skirt, 100 percent silk, for $65. I haven’t worn an evening skirt in seven years. Even at that price, I wouldn’t get my money’s worth.
I mourn those heels, though. One size up and they? Would be mine.
We need a little shopping talk on this dreary Monday, don’t we? It’s dreary here, anyway. Eight more days to you-know-what, and it’s like the last miles of a very long race — they’re just longer than all the ones that came before. Sarah Palin was in Fort Wayne Saturday, and the crowd got bitchy when they had to wait hours to clear security. (Please don’t read that story far enough down to see the TSA referred to as the “Traffic Safety Administration.” Don’t you know editors cost money? And everyone makes misteaks.) And the DetNews parachutes in to Angola, Ind., and calls it a “tiny college town,” which made both Alan and me say huh over breakfast; while technically true, a more accurate description of Angola would be “farm hamlet with a significant population of homesick Malaysian engineering students.” Anyway, it’s either the epicenter of an era of epochal change for the Hoosier state, or the closest town to the Michigan border that one could set a foot in and earn the dateline.
In other local races at this hour, I have the opportunity to vote on medical marijuana and embryonic stem-cell research, both of which I intend to approve. Medical marijuana may sneak through; lots of people are voting yes just because it sounds goofy, and by the time-honored polling technique of “asking people I know,” I predict a landslide. Besides, with the state circling the drain as it is, can anyone mount a credible argument for not staying stoned around the clock? Stem cells are a little harder-fought, and the opposition is targeting and fine-tuning their advertising: For farty old Republicans, it’ll cost taxpayer money. For religious conservatives, it’s about dead babies, and adding Welcome to the Island of Doctor Moreau to the signs at the state border. And for African Americans, it’s Tuskegee all over again.
I’m voting yes. I’m considering, for this very special election year and this year only, voting a straight bug-the-GOP ticket. That’ll mean giving my vote to lots of people who, quite frankly, don’t deserve it, but at this point my greater aim is to punish the opposition on every possible front. Congratulations, John McCain — it took a moderate Republican to do what even Newt Gingrich couldn’t.
So in that spirit, on to the bloggage:
Do you use FedEx? Might consider an alternative.
New York magazine assembles a Top 10 list of daffy old coots, complete with YouTube clips, here. The Cloris Leachman clip alone is worth the price of admission.
Meanwhile, here in Detroit, the former mayor checks into the Graybar Hotel tomorrow, but not after one last f-you to the city he claims to love — a dine-and-dash incident at a local club. He signed his name to the $126.16 bill, called “charge it to the city” over his shoulder, and walked out. We may not be a swing state this year, but does that ever happen in squeaky-clean Indiana? I don’t think so.
Finally, wassup? Wassup: