The dangerous object would be me. I hate winter. I detest the slushy snow, the cold and having wet ankles no matter where I walk. And I hate the idiocy of girls who apparently don't own a thermometer or, failing that, a calendar.
My new city is deluged by snow. It's everywhere and in every shade: virginal white to muddy brown. But don't make a mud pie with it. You'll get frostbite. And that's no way to start an imaginary tea party.
But here's what I saw over the weekend when I went to see "The Wrestler," which was by the way unspeakably amazing and made me wish Rotten Tomatoes gave me a vote so I could bump the percentage up to 98.5 % fresh.
The odds of her ever reading this are slim, but let's pretend she is reading this and write her a nice little letter, shall we?
Dear Precious,
It is 12 degrees outside. Your feet are turning blue in your open-toed shoes. And, if the frostbite isn't a concern to you, at least think about how badly cerulean clashes with your magenta polish. Yes, yes, I know that Stacy London says things don't have to match as long as they go, but I don't think she's referring to toenail polish and bodily afflictions. If that were so, khaki would always go with gangrene and we know that isn't true, don't we?
Now we've covered the feet, so let's move upward, shan't we? Your shoulders are exposed. Your tummy is exposed. Here's a little rule of thumb I like: When your exposed skin matches the powdery stuff blanketing the ground, you should reconsider what you're wearing. But if that's too tricky to remember, then stop and look at your hands. If you have a clutch purse in one of them, your teeny-tiny shirt might be okay. But if you have a puffy, fur-collared coat in the other hand, time to go home and throw on a number of layers that at least corresponds with your number of feet.
I know this is hard to hear. But trust me. You'll thank me when your attempts at flirtation aren't being hindered by uncontrollable shaking. "M-m-m-m-m-m-my p-p-place o-r-r yuh-yuh-yours?" is tempting only to the most desperate of frat boys.
Kisses and hugs.
A
Welcome To The Juice Box Blog
12 years ago
This is awesome. You are so great with words! I never knew you blogged here. I must read more! :)
ReplyDeleteWhat's terrible is, you could be writing this to me. The way I look at it is: I'm ALWAYS cold. If I wear my boots and jeans and a sweater and a shirt under it. . I'm still shivering. Might as well just wear the flipflops and not bother with the socks.
ReplyDeleteThen again, "cold" out here is 65, and I actually know at least one guy who doesn't own a pair of long pants.
No one has ever made an admonishment sound so beautiful. Also, as a woman who will be clunking around in Doc Martens until even the threat of snow is gone, I understand your feelings and am totally baffled at the idea that people are so willing to risk the loss of limbs for the sake of "fashion," or whatever they want to call it. Stumps are just not sexy.
ReplyDeleteHee Hee! Made me chuckle, especially since I've been snowed in and dressing for chores like gathering firewood, trekking snowy hills to check on neighbors, sledding, etc. It's the only time my three pairs of long underwear just don't seem like enough and I find myself doing fashion faux pas like rolling up my jeans and putting my socks over the rolls to create an extra snow barrier. I finally made my way to town today for supplies and spied a woman in shorts! While I usually love dressing to my girly-girl nature, there's something sexy about the self-sufficient mountain woman that comes out at these times, bad fashion aside. And having someone help peel off the layers and warm you up? Well, you know...
ReplyDeleteYour second graf was totally from Drop Dead Fred. I hope you knowingly did that. Actually, I hope you didn't. Because the mud pies and tea party were an awesome reference!
ReplyDeleteOhh, I loved that movie. Snotface! But no, I wasn't thinking of it. I was thinking about the tea parties I really did have as a child with mud pies. I wasn't a girly girl back then. Half the time, I had frogs in my pockets and mud on my face. Come to think of it, that's pretty much like now.
ReplyDelete