Jun 23 2008
Ahh, Woolslinger, (by the way, Eddie is in Portland on July 15th) if you ever find yourself around these parts, stop by for some (okay, lots) of wine and a stroll through my closet(s). I practically live in a textile museum. Back before the hubs and I jumped the broom we went to a lot of parties, the kinds of parties where most of the guests had stylists. I prided myself on having cooler clothes than the professionals. Also, I worked for a design firm where one of my co-workers insisted on keeping the place at a median temperature of 48 degrees. Coffee and a mindboggling collection of jackets were the only ways I staved off hypothermia. I also wore really tall boots and had not yet chopped off my hair. Picture Adam Ant, basically, but with a lot more hair.
I knew J.Peterman way before Seinfeld and spent a sizable chunk of my income there. Every day was my own personal costume party. British navy officer’s coat? Yes, please. Tallulah Bankhead tea gown in champagne or black? Oh, why choose? Vintage top hat with velvet band and veil, circa 1908? Bitch you are coming home with me! (you’d be surprised just how many times I have worn that, actually.)
In a past life perhaps I was a Belle Epoque man of fashion, or a silent screen movie extra? More likely I was the kleptomaniac sexually confused valet who dressed up in cast off evening wear in my cold furnished room under the eaves. Eddie could totally play me in the movie.
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