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Saturday, May 22, 2010

Shaken, not stirred.

Well, I was SUPPOSED to be at a wine tasting today, which included a martini tasting. However...uh huh, nope, I did NOT pick up the tickets I won and I was NOT milling about at Greystone Mansion this afternoon. My younger son, who tips the scales at the ripe old age of 20, had made some previous plans. This in and of itself isn't that big a problem. I won these tickets from a radio station and asked three friends to come with me. All three said, in essence, "sorry, busy".

So I figured okay, that's fine, it's me and the hubster. It'll take three busses, as my carless state continues for awhile yet, but what else have I got to do on a Saturday, right?

However, with the sudden realization that my younger son would NOT be home and my older one would be alone for something in the vicinity of 6 or so hours, the pretty color print that says "Congratulations!" and "your tickets are at will-call" remains on the rather cluttered occasional table next the my desk.

My older son has some issues, one of them health related. He's on medication for it and it's reared it's ugly head exactly ONCE in the past five years, but that's one time too many, it's not advisable to be alone if one can avoid it. So the wine went untasted, at least by me. As did the martinis. Although the martini tasting was billed as being sponsored by Grey Goose. This is VODKA. I do not drink VODKA martinis and I, quite frankly, resent the current trend that labels all martinis as being made with vodka and forces me to order a "Bombay Martini" because I happen to like my drinks served in their original and unaltered recipes. I think it not only sounds silly but is redundant to saunter up to a bar and order a "gin martini". To avoid this (as well as to avoid being served Beefeater, which is swill) I order Bombay. This adds two bucks to the price of the martini, btw, as it's now a "called" drink as opposed to a "well" drink. I understand the call part, I have "called" for a particular brand. I have no idea why the house rotgut is called "well".

Anyway, I amused myself by going through the closet. BAD move. I have two garbage bags full of very nice evening wear that I can no longer comfortably sit for any length of time in. I intend to get some under bed boxes and some cedar thingies and take the clothing out of the trash bags and slide it under the bed, as it's now imperative I go back to Weight Watchers. Hope does spring eternal.

A couple of business type suits also found their way into their temporary home in the Glad bags, which really depressed the hell out of me, as I actually wore them about two years ago. This was before I a) became firmly and, apparently, irrevocably ensconced in a job with the main requirement of sitting on my rather sizable butt 9 hours a day and b) ate my way through the loss of my husband's job and, as the night follows the day, my home. Sometimes I ache for that place, it's really not so much the house as the fact that my family had owned it for 30 odd years and we didn't have enough time to get everything out. I have a decent enough apt now, a bit small for the four of us but the neighborhood is pretty fair and we still are playing host the the previously blogged ducks. I miss the damnedest things though. I miss pulling into my own driveway and leaving the car there. And oh my GOD how I miss my washer and dryer. However...

I did keep my sapphire blue evening suit in the closet though. I tried it on and it buttons after a fashion. I bought this suit from Bloomingdale's several years ago, mostly to spite my step-mother-in-law. After my husband's mother died my father-in-law and his wife (okay, give the devil her due, they'd been married for something like 30 years) beat a path to the old family Church for a wedding. As my MIL was now passed on my FIL was, at least to the Catholic Church, now a widower and free to marry.

Did I mention I married into a large family of Italians?

Well, anyway, we received an invitation to this ceremony, which was being held a couple of weeks after Christmas. This enabled my "new" MIL to piggyback her wedding and subsequent reception at their home onto my FIL's birthday, thus saving considerable bucks. Especially considering her four step-children (all well grown with adult or close to it children of their own) were all given their tasks...One for the cake, one for the photographer. We got decor, but I digress.

Well, anyway, about two weeks before Christmas I got a call from her asking what size pants she should buy my sons because she wanted them to be properly dressed at this shindig. I pointed out that, as I was scavenging through the dumpsters out back of the local Big Lots I had managed to snag some very serviceable three piece suits but if she thought that would be overdressed....and NO, this was BEFORE the big financial debacle, there are three men live in my house and they ALL own suits.

Having expressed obvious and very vocal surprise that my husband and sons owned suits she then told me what she thought I should wear. The outfit she suggested WAS a knockout, it was designed for me by a friend who does that sort of thing and it's pretty cool. However, once she told me it would be "appropriate" and she expected to see me in it I realized it would be a cold day in hell before I wore it, at least to THAT wedding (I later wore it to my niece's). So, in a fit of pique, I returned from a marathon shopping trip with THE SUIT in a bag. Damn, it was beautiful. Sapphire blue double breasted velvet jacket with sapphire blue satin slacks. It gave me no small amount of smug pleasure when that suit was WAY more "appropriate" for a mid-January evening event than the ruby red silk floor length skirt and top combo would have been.

The pantsuit was a little too big. Not baggy big, but I was EXTREMELY comfortable in it. I tried it on today. I CAN get it buttoned and still breathe. And, unlike some of my other evening suits, I can get my arms down with some effort. I tried another one on and, after carefully greasing my arms and working them all the way down into the long sleeves I discovered I looked something like Burgess Meredith playing "The Penguin." I wasn't able to get my arms all the way down to my sides and there was absolutly NO way I could bend them at the elbow. There I stood, with my arms looking as if they were in black splints, my hands sort of flapping for no real reason. The blue, while snug, COULD probably be worn as long as I remain standing. I don't think sitting is yet an option, those Swarovski buttons would most definitely do no small amount of damage when they came loose, especially considering the catapult like force and speed with which they would most certainly launch themselves towards back of some unsuspecting theater patron.

I left it on it's hangar though, as a reminder that I once wore it comfortably and now I can't, in spite of the fact that it looks now as if it came from Beverly Hills Tent and Awning. And tonight I cooked like a real person, I cleaned and cut vegetables, blanched and shocked them, mixed then with brown rice and garbanzo beans with a homemade vinaigrette and served it with boneless, skinless chicken breasts, which were marinated in Pesto and were NOT as good as I thought they would be, pesto in a grill pan just didn't seem to work. But the whole thing made me feel MUCH better about A) the blue suit; B) the Guinness Book of World Records size muffin top currently sitting right above the waistband of my favorite jeans and C) the slice of lemon tart I had with a cup of tea about an hour ago.

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