Yesterday, the UPS guy delivered a padded envelope containing a cute sweater that I bought from the Garnet Hill catalog. It was marked down from their after-Christmas sale, so it was practically free. It’s red, cashmere, fitted, and has a boat-neck collar and ¾ length sleeves. It’s also magical, because I put it on and when I looked in the mirror, I swear I saw a 25-year-old version of myself standing there.
I went right to the closet and accessorized it with this kicky little silk scarf I have. I had bought it years ago from Nordstrom on sale, and had never really worn it. I tied it around my neck in the way those Parisian girls do. The color palette was red and black against a white background, and the pattern looked like something Jackson Pollack might have come up with: aggressive streaks of color and bold use of haphazard lines and squiggles. The scarf and the sweater pretty much eloped the second they met.
I felt very smug about my new look. The new look needed to be shared with others. Luckily, Short was home.
I interrupted his crucial cartoon-watching to rake in a few compliments.
MOV: Short, Sweetie, do you notice anything different about Mommy?
Short: You’re blocking the TV.
MOV: (fumbling with remote control to freeze his show) There. Now take a look.
MOV: (beginning to strut like a supermodel on the catwalk) Well? Do you like it?
Short: Why are you walking that funny way?
MOV: Just look! The sweater! My new sweater. What do you think?
Short: It’s very stylish—it’s not right for you at all.