Thrift Shop

Welp, I have to hand it to the universe: I did not expect to ever hear "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore while thrift shopping.  But it happened, and it gave me distinct pleasure, and I may have had to suppress a little dance.  And I am listening to it again now because it's catchy and it's been awhile.  This afternoon, Vale and Ginni decided it was a good time for us to go try on some discount designer clothes, or more specifically, to find "vestiti belli e buffi" for "la Julia" (note: I will answer to "la Julia" upon my return), aka I was going to be their doll and be at the mercy of their fashionable whims.  And so I was.  I pulled some truly marvelous and horrifying creations over my head.  Was intimidated at first by shopping with real live Italian ladies who instinctively know what is hot and what is not, because there is no telling (if you're me) when their faces will contort with disgust as you pull it off the rack (and then immediately pretend you were joking and put it right back) and when they will deem something beautiful and worthy.  I learned.  I also re-learned the first commandment of thrift-shopping: Thou shalt wear proper underwear, because everyone will see it--even if you're wearing clothes, because everything is see-through, guys.  Everything.  I know that the man who cruised by the dressing rooms 8 times while I was in there knew all about my underwear, and I know this because the curtain covered approximately the area between my shoulders and my mid-thighs and also left convenient gaps on the sides, allowing me to survey the entire store whilst attempting not to trip on myself as I wriggled out of a long-sleeved see-through yellow silk dress.  Pro-tip: do not make eye-contact while performing this maneuver.

It was an emotional time for my companions.  Ginni had to part with a neon smiley-face T-shirt because Mamma was not shelling out 40 euro (did I mention that this place was a few steps above Goodwill?), and Vale had to say farewell to some beautiful but lopsided leather shoes that stole her heart.  Ginni wore a vacant, desolate expression for the remainder of the afternoon.  No poppin' tags for us.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Insufficiency of 'No'

Feelin' pretty good about all the recent national discussion about sexual assault on college campuses. Good because it's happening. As ever, some of the things said will be constructive. Some won't. I want to take issue with a common sentiment:  that boys and young men should be operating on a "no means no" policy, should be taught that this is the appropriate method of determining whether consent is present. I say nope. Nope to "no means no." It's not enough--it's a starting point. A mind-numbingly obvious starting point which, even if one obeys, does not bring our culture out of its predatory funk. When a person says no, whatever activity he or she is declining should stop immediately. That's a given. How long will it take for everyone to understand that? Dear jeebus, I hope not much longer. But there's more to it. Women should not have to be gatekeepers. The absence of no is not an invitation. On the street, at a bar, in the bed
Read more

Rainy Wednesday With "Puh"

Image
Spent this rainy afternoon with an old friend. English lessons are becoming quite musical--Beatles, Bob Dylan, ubiquitous contemporary pop, and my favorite blues guys are nice teaching tools.  For Ginni, anyway. If anyone has any advice about 12 year old boys (going on 13), let me know.  My very presence appears to terrify him.  My only real experience with such creatures is my brother, and as I recall we spent most of that era trying to kill each other. To my Marylanders: happy snow day!  (Is there snow?) UPDATE: Spending the night with the men, drinking Castello Rosso (good Italian beer), eating crescente (local specialty, like focaccia but uber salty), listening to the Sex Pistols, and playing darts in the basement with the "Lebowski Darts Club."  Happy gal, me.
Read more

Hot Mess

Election results are in and it looks as though....nothing has changed! How is this possible?  This awesome little op-ed deftly sums it up.  Illusion is the only reality, indeed. I would like to say, though, that this is the country that brought us the Renaissance, and thus a huge part of our own culture and history.  Just about everything it touches is beautiful, and though not always, there is often much depth under that beauty.  Also, it's hardly a country; it's a bunch of loosely cobbled together city-states, and the loose cobbling only happened in 1861.  Many people are born and die in the same city, and some never even travel to many other regions, let alone countries.  Italy is ancient and wise, but it's also a small, small child.  Ya know?  I am on its side. Come on, Italy.  Get it together.
Read more