I have some lovely clothes. There is, for example, a lovely blue shirt with blue and pearl beads. A soft velour skirt in a warm dark chocolate color. Sassy slacks and the soft as a dream white angora sweater.
I never wear them. Because they were expensive, or because they require dry cleaning, or like that.
I have actual silverware. As in, made of silver. Which I never use, not even for holidays; mostly because I forget all about it until right before the doorbell rings and then I don’t want to risk discovering tarnish right in fronts of my guests.
And, I have been skipping dessert a lot lately. Telling myself, firmly, that Coldstone is not a good place for a quick lunch, and that adding strawberries to a cake does not make it a ‘fruit and vegetable’ serving.
I became rather philosophical one afternoon as I was lacing up my rather, erm, well-loved tennis shoes instead of slipping on one of my dressier pumps, and I said to myself, “Why is that? What do I think I’m saving these for, exactly? One should go forth and live! Use the good silver, wear the favorite shirt, eat dessert first once in a while! You must live this life of yours, my dear, live it!”
This is what I said to myself on Tuesday.
By Saturday, I had a sink full of silver that needed careful polishing with chemicals that simultaneously demanded gloves due to harshness, yet made the process a hazard while wearing same; my feet were aching from a full day in dressy pumps, and a certain Situation had arisen around those sassy slacks of mine, to wit, they appeared to have shrunk in the laundry hamper, probably due to cheesecake fumes (which have that effect on clothing); and speaking of the laundry hamper…a large tub’s worth of articles requiring hand washing (which my new washer does handle splendidly, woo hoo) followed by various methods of drying: line, flat, folded up in a towel, spread across a towel, hand-fluffed by monks using pure, imported Tibetan air.
You know what I love about stainless steel, machine wash/dry clothing and salad? They permit me to go forth and live this life of mine, without the drama of a clothesline, without the agony of silver polish, without having to face up to the fact that I am no longer twenty-something and that even looking at a double-sized slice of cheesecake will add three pant sizes to my hips.
Models of the Atom
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