This is some crazy (yet cool) shit

2 months ago:

I took a basket of clothes to my favorite consignment shop. Favorite because 1) the owner is so much fun to visit, 2) her taste in clothing is extraordinary; she carries clothes that range from Ann Taylor LBDs to 1950’s housedresses and 3) she has the ability to make you feel as if you can totally pull off whatever it is you’ve decided to try to pull off, thus boosting your self-esteem 1,000-fold.

So on this particular day, I felt like shit when I went in and declared upon entering, “I feel like shit; I am not trying anything on today. I have an upcoming wedding, but I’ll come back another day to shop.”

But, while she was looking through the basket, she was also keep a keen eye on my wanderings throughout the racks. At one point she said, “That orange dress is super cool.”

And it was.

Just my thing – absolutely irresistible.

Thick polyester – the kind you could tie in a knot, wet, and it still wouldn’t wrinkle. And covered with beads: rhinestones and seed pearls. And hand-laced fringe at the hem. And, hand made – one of a kind.

And orange.

It was only $2 more than the credit that I had just earned with my basket.

2 months ago to yesterday:

I was so excited to wear the dress that I tried it on regularly (at least once a week). I spent hours online picking out the perfect accessories. I bought a slip. I agonized over shoes vs. boots.

Last night. Wedding night:

Getting dressed, I had a moment of hesitation; Could I really pull this off or should I wear something more “normal” and less of a statement?

Then I remembered the delicious feeling I had when I first saw it, the warmth that spread throughout my soul as I examined each and every mini-bauble lovingly sewn on from neck to knee.

The gloves I bought didn’t work and the necklace wasn’t perfect. But the dress was.

Now it gets exciting:

After dinner, a woman, who I didn’t know, approached me and asked if she could speak with me.  It all sounded very intrigue-y so of course I said yes.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but where did you get your dress?”

I told her.  She didn’t know the place because she’s from outside the radius of the shop’s clientele. but then she took a deep breath and said, “That’s my Great Aunt May’s dress.”

Long story short, Great Aunt May lives in Lubbock, Texas. At 90, as she prepared to finally give in to the idea of assisted living, and my gal went to Lubbock to help her out, Great Aunt May said, “Why don’t you take a couple of dresses.”

My new best friend chose the orange and brought it home to New Mexico. It hung in her closet for three years, awaiting alterations. Realizing that she was never going to join dress with sewing machine, she took the dress to the Goodwill and said goodbye.

Somehow, over time (another couple of years, I think) the beads and the fringe made their way to Colorado and my favorite consignment shop where it then made its way into my closet and onto my body and to the wedding, where Great Aunt May’s great-niece, the dress, and I finally converged.

How cool is that?

 

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What to wear

I have a wedding to go to in 2 days. I want to wear my red cowboy boots:imgres

But I don’t want to be this gal:

Cow? Horse? Hunh?

Cow? Horse? Hunh?

Or this one:

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I want to be her:

ultimate cool

ultimate cool

 

But, here was a conversation that took place, just today:

“What are you wearing to the wedding?”

“I don’t know, seems like every wedding I go to, the standard uniform for the gals is dress, cowboy boots, jean jacket.”

Well, shitdamn, I don’t want to be wearing some “We think we are such cute western girls, even though we’re from Connecticut and have never stepped in actual cow shit,” uniform.

Because, I’m not that girl. Can’t be.

I’m from New Jersey.

And I am just as cool as my girl, Emmylou.

In my head.

I bought this gorgeous dress a while back, thinking it would be perfect for the wedding and it’s green which MCB really likes which makes it even more perfect. I started thinking about what I could wear on my feet that would accommodate all of the needs of the event: standing, dancing, walking on grass, all, for hours on end.

I’ll just throw on my boots – easy. Don’t need to give it another thought.

But now I do because the cliché has been noted; using an out-loud voice.

If I wear the boots and the dress, even without a jean jacket since I don’t own one, I will a) be that gal, just like every other gal there, and b) doing so with everyone knowing that I am fully aware of being the wannabe cowgirl who grew up listening to Bruce Springsteen and Tom Waits, not Ricky Skaggs and Patty Loveless.

So, maybe I could go with these:

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Or these:images-3

I am from Jersey after all.

Or, since I am an “Outdoorsy” type, perhaps these will be better:

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Or my inner athlete could go here:

images-1

 

I have 45 hours to decide.

I refuse to buy anything new.

And I am convinced that whatever I chose to wear, it will steal the spotlight from the bride and in the years to come, people will look back and relive the moment they saw my ill-shoed feet instead of her Vera Wang gown.