Thursday, June 28, 2007

Running In Heels

It's funny the things that inspire thought.

I went to mass this afternoon, hoping it might do the trick. I was dressed in "Twiggy" fashion, with bright yellow spots, and khaki capris. Vintage clutch and cheap Steinmart heels and away we go. I found myself running through the rain, a prayer book over my hair, in a vain attempt to keep the body that I'd worked to get (thank you, Lizzie for the shampoo and products!). In the end I assumed God didn't care, nor the priest. And if either one of them did, I was in more trouble that flat hair.

I saw through mass, responding and trying to keep my mind in the moment. It sort of worked, but wasn't the "fix" I was looking for. In reality, a glass of anything-but-chardonnay would have helped. The glass, not the bottle I would inevitably consume once I started. That, most certainly, would not help. I drove to the next best thing.

After spending my four bucks at Starbucks (and a piece of cake) for lunch, I saw in the corner, curled my legs under me in the cushy chair and read my book. Which I found in the Self Help section.

Mortifying.

But a lovely read, anyway. After being annoyed by the loud man on his cell phone who crept into my corner in an attempt at politeness to the rest of the coffee shop (apparently, I don't need quiet to read and eat my cake), I left the shop. I wanted to stroll down the street and look at the antiques and over priced linens, but the clouds and rain had other plans for me.
Okay, that's a lie. I would have strolled, but it was hot. And humid. And I hate being sticky and gross. I want to live in Maine. In the evening. At 60 degrees year round and wear jackets and sweatshirts with shorts.

Which bring me to my point. I got home and began to organize (no, not REorganize- just do it- as in, for the first time) my closet. I was struck by how many of my clothes don't fit me anymore.
And I don't just mean don't fit as in, I've gained a million pounds since getting married and the sizes 2,4, and yes, even, 6 are a stretch... shit. Who am I kidding? Even the STRETCH size sixes are suck-it-in-and-let-it-hang. Not attractive. But aside from my recent poundage explosion, many of my clothes don't fit me anymore. Not who I am today.

Wet Seal? Did I really shop there? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it's just not me. I wrapped myself in my Ralph Lauren cardigan and surveyed my clothes, making a pile of my past beside me. I actually still owned items from the 90s. wtf? Why? I'm talking, when I was going through my "Felicity-wannabe" phase.

Ridiculous.

I want clothes I can wrap in scented tissues. Cashmere wraps, cardigans, pin stripes and linen. Throw in my favorite "hippy" tops, and anything empire and I'm in heaven. I want skirts I know will wrinkle, but I buy them anyway, even though I hate ironing. Anything goes in summer, browns in fall, winter white and pastels for spring. Shoes, don't get me started.

And it made me think, staring at this pile of who I was, how happy I am to be who I am today. Maybe not "hot" (not that I ever was in the first place), but certainly contented- even running in heels with a prayer book in the rain.

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posted by Kellie @ 3:00 PM |

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