So my extra pounds and I went to my 30th high school reunion last night (to save you from doing the math, this means I am 48 years old). Despite emails from some buddies who were planning their outfits days in advance of the night of terror, I waited until the morning of to look in my closet and see what I could extract. After cleaning up a surprise poop that Boo-Boo had thoughtfully left for me on the closet floor, I picked out a red dress that Jeanne had bought for me well over a year ago at our NJ temple, Annie Sez. “This is perfect for you to wear to work!” said she, the woman who has never worked in an office. Trust me, this dress was NOT perfect for me to wear to work, as it is fire-engine red, features a plunging neckline, and has a rhinestone buckle beneath the breast. But here’s what was great about it yesterday morning: it fit, though I had to skip the underwear so there were no lines. Fashion is sacrifice, let’s face it.
I got to the reunion and saw many terrific people there, including my old pal Charles, whose sister had a very long and intense high school (and college and beyond) romance with my brother. Needless to say, Charles and I know each other’s families well, through the bagels, the bashes, and the breakups. When he saw me, he told me he loved my dress. And he’s straight! I confessed that I did not deserve the kudos, as it was Mah who’d bought it for me. “Oh, that Jeanne,” he said, nodding his head fondly.
You know what, Mah? Others may think it’s unusual that you buy me clothes at such an advanced age (mine, not yours), but apparently, your instinct remains unerring. Now I just need to help you redefine what you think of as a work wardrobe, and back to Annie’s you’ll go. Trust me, I could use the help.