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Archive for August 6th, 2009

I was 15 years old. We lived in a townhome and I didn’t wear shoes in the house. My feet are claustrophobic, like to feel the air. I was careering around a corner and the little toe of my right foot slammed into the piano bench with a sickening crunch. Yep. Broken toe. Nothing to do for it but wear protective shoes.

Seems like for several years it was always broken, because it was swollen and I was–nay, am–clumsy as they come so it just never healed all the way.  But eventually I grew less clumsy and the toe healed. funnily, but it healed. Every now and then, though, I have to break that toe just t0 prove to myself that I’m a klutz who needs to wear shoes in the house.

You know what’s funniest about the current breakage? I somehow managed to slam it up against one of Joe’s guitar cases. So my first broken toe was on my piano bench and my most recent breakage was on a guitar case. Romantic way to tie myself and my husband together through our mutual love for music and my silly small toe on the right foot.

Tried episkey.

didn’t work.

haven’t tried whiskey, but doubt it would work either.

stinkin’ toe.

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smells

as in aromas. When I was a teenager, all of my perfume came from the drug store. Jontue, Windsong, Charlie, Love’s Baby Soft, and, okay, Avon’s Sweet Honesty.

When I was in my 20’s, I was too sophisticated (ha!) for drug store perfumes, but I couldn’t afford the good stuff. So I compromised with the designer imposters. You remember them, don’t you? “If you like THIS NAME BRAND OF PERFUME, then you’ll love OUR IMITATION BRAND.

Then I met my husband. He thought that if I liked a perfume, I should get the good stuff.  He got me my first bottle of Giorgio perfume. While we were dating and for at least the first 3 or 4 years of our marriage, that was the only scent I wore. Then I moved on, tried all kinds of different perfumes, liked some, hated others (for the record, Gauthier smells really awful on me). I don’t think I’ve worn any particular perfume with any degree of regularity (although I’ll confess a fondness for Hermes Un Jardin sur le Nil and wish it didn’t cost $90 a bottle) (and I never had a bottle of it, just a sample bottle that I stretched out as long as humanly possible).

Lately for some reason I’ve been craving Giorgio again. It’s no longer the perfume of the moment, so I don’t have to worry about smelling like everyone else. I asked Joe to get me a bottle the last time he was perfume shopping, but he forgot.  Tonight when I took myself on a consolatory mini shopping binge at Ross, I saw the familiar yellow striped box locked up in their little perfume box, and decided to splurge. It was only $20 (all told I spent $77, which for a bottle of perfume, two shirts, a totally awesome blue and black buffalo print jacket, a small framed piece of artwork for my living room, and a shabby chic holder for my mail is seriously not bad at all).  When I got to the car, I ripped the shrink wrap off the box, eagerly pulled the bottle out, admired the neat beauty of the bottle, spritzed some on—-and I smell like myself. It’s a smell that I just love, and feel a little sad that I let so much time go by.  So while I may still wear my Urban Decay or Armani or Bulgari or Hermes (in my dreams), the Giorgio will be my daily go-to.

Next thought–seize the moment.  The last several times I’ve gone to Ross, they’ve had a totally excellent Warhol tote bag that I didn’t get even though I was in love with it. I broke my own rule: when you find the perfect bag, get it, because chances are it won’t be there the next time you go.   Tonight while I was in the dressing room admiring my new jacket, I decided then and there that I was going to go buy that bag no matter how much it cost. And lo, it was nowhere to be found. Some other woman with fantastic taste is walking around with that Warhol tote hanging from her shoulder because she was smart and bought it.

And the last thought–My New York trip got canceled. Instead of Joe being there 3 weeks or 3 months, he’s coming home this weekend. I will confess to being devastated when I got the news. I cried, and if you know what I’m like on Seroquel et al., you’ll know I don’t cry anymore. But I suggested that if Joe’s actually in town next weekend, we could take a short weekend trip to San Antonio or Galveston or somewhere, and he agreed. And if he’s not in town next weekend, I’m still going to take the dogs to the kennel and enjoy a weekend all to myself, no one waking me up every half hour during the night, doing whatever I want whenever I want.

I looked at my mail, and I had a letter from Amnesty International that made me feel a little petty for being so upset about not getting to take a vacation I wanted to take. And some of my friends are losing their jobs. And John Hughes passed away today. And I’ve got friends with major health issues. Etc. etc.  So I’m asking the universe to please forgive my few moments of selfishness, and thank you for sending me some reminders of real priorities.

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