Nick came up from the basement clutching a maroon cardigan, my beloved maroon cardigan, which had disappeared during one of the many moves over the past year.
"Is this yours?"
"I've been looking for that all winter," I said.
"Figured," he sniffed. "Neither of us own anything from the 1980s."
I shook my head. Silly boy. I bought that sweater in 1992.
It is the sad story of my plunge into middle age, and the cardigan is a symbol of my fashion decline. I still have clothes -- I still wear clothes -- from the time the kids were not just young, but small.
I also have a closet full of clothes I covet but can no longer wear. There is the designer coat that harkens back to a visit to the Hotel Vancouver in 1985. God I love that coat.
There are the blouses I haven't fit into for a decade, the silks, the creams, the cottons; no way can I button them up. But I'm keeping them just in case.
Back in the day, I spent thousands of dollars on clothes and shoes and purses.
These days, I'm lucky if I spend a hundred dollars every two years on new bras.
Is it because I'm no longer the clothes horse I once was? Is it because I no longer have disposable income? Is it because my priorities have changed?
No. I think it's because I've given up.
Margaret Wente, in yesterday's Globe and Mail, lamented the fact that she no longer gets wolf whistles from guys, that she's become a ghost in her old age.
I think it's more than that. I don't care what I look like anymore.
I don't like to get dressed up. Don't like to go to the hairdresser. Would rather stay home in my yoga pants watching The Biggest Loser.
Saying this out loud makes me feel ashamed of myself.
I'm middle aged; I'm not dead.
It's time to shake off the cobwebs, trip the light fantastic, put on the ritz.
It's time to write a new vision and mission statement for myself.
Surrender the $14 hair dye in favor of one of those $200 streakfests.
Try color blocking.
So my goal this summer is to embrace my inner Tim Gunn.
How I'll accomplish this is anyone's guess.
Any suggestions are welcomed.
Start from the feet up!! Last summer I decided this old body needed a little more attention too, so off I went to the dollar store. A wicker basket, nail files, toe separaters, cotton balls, nail polish remover, heel scrubbers and ten dollars later, I had everything I needed to make my feet feel like they were (well almost) new. I splurged on some vegan nail polish because well, I'm afraid of what might be in some cheap nail polish, grabbed a bucket of hot water, a portable radio with the dial set to an old 80's station, a glass of wine and a deck chair and I was set for the afternoon. Two hours later, I felt pampered and pretty and my feet were pretty happy too. I even bought a new pair of sandals. I made it a habit to give myself a pedicure every two weeks, even started inviting my sisters over to join me and now I even do it in the winter. Try it. It's a fun, but inexpensive way to feel like taking care of yourself still matters.
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