Thursday, June 30, 2011

a lot of livin' to do

Like all most (oh, not that many?) women of the 21st century, one of my deepest and darkest desires is to be Ann-Margret.  A-M more or less set the standard for effortless style, poise and hubba-hubbacity in the 60s.  In my unicorn-infested fantasy world, I'm capable of achieving some modicum of success in these areas without making myself look like a damn fool.

On an exciting date I had recently back in the real world, my painstaking efforts to rock a snug pair of cropped pants, fitted top and ballet flats on an exciting date culminated in me unceremoniously sitting in a giant gob of gum, which I daresay was more memorable than how good I looked when that gum decided to hitch its wagon to my star.

Sup, Universe?  I'm K, and I look like a damn fool.

(Don't worry, the Universe knows I can take a joke.  Gum be damned, that date was a success.)

Undeterred by gumtastrophe, I got it into my head one day that I was going to channel A-M as hard as I could and take B along for an after-work shopping trip to feed the flame of my delusions.  I tempted her with some giant bowls of PF Chang's soup at the end of that rainbow.  You better believe she dug it.

That morning, like I do once a month or three, I thought it would be fun to wear my hair straight.

K's hair
+ 'Sea Breeze' grade humidity

By the time I got to work, I knew I'd made an egregious error that had landed me further from Ann-Margreaven (does that work?  I want it to so badly) than ever.

I described the situation to B as something along the lines of Stefan Urquelle transforming back into Steve Urkel in the twilight seasons of Family Matters.  Being the kind heart that she is, she blamed that unpredictable Pgh humidity.  Being the powerful wizard that she is, she managed to keep her eyeballs from bleeding when we met up in the hallowed halls of Target later that night.

As it turned out, the only finds that the shopping trip produced didn't fit within the A-M paradigm I was shooting for, but the soup was great (no one was surprised).  I got a fancy pot of tea that came with an impossibly small teacup and made me feel downright brobdingnagian, a situation that, clearly, demanded pantomime of a frizzy-haired monster tea party.

In the end, we had to go back to the restaurant because I had left a shopping bag under the table like a scatterbrained boob.  This punctuated the takeaway points from the evening:
1.  When I try to be Ann-Margret, things go horribly horribly wrong
2.  When I get excited about soup, it never lets me down
3.  When I'm a hot mess, B loves me anyway

Our lives are some kind of shitstorm, but oh, we have a good time anyhow.

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