8/8/16. The post where I reward your patience.

8/8/16: this post has nothing to do with RSD. You've stuck with me for awhile. I subjected you to a picture of my foot.  You deserve a break. So I am going to tell you a silly story instead.  After which you may wish I had posted another picture of my foot instead.

Flashback to two years ago.  I would have sworn I told you this story, but I can find no recorded evidence of it.  While we were vacationing in Cinque Terre, I bought a beautiful handmade wrap skirt in a local shop.  In a combination of English, Italian, and Charades, the shopkeeper showed me how to wear it and it made sense. Until I got home and tried to wear it for the first time.  Few things will make you feel less intelligent than not being able to figure out how to wear a skirt.  I had several false starts and then I put it away.  On one of Mom's visits, she and I pulled it out and cracked the code, at least in theory, over a bottle of wine. But I was never brave enough to try it in the heat of battle.  

Back to the present.  Our house is on the market and I am contemplating the requisite downsizing that accompanies any move.  The first step in cleaning out my closet is an evaluation of my clothing.  I am trying to wear things that are not in my normal rotation, and at the end of each wearing I decide to either discard it or add it to the rotation.  Eventually, I made it to the wrap skirt.  Sunday morning I had plenty of time to get ready in a calm, collected fashion, so I decided to give it a try. It felt a little like this: https://youtu.be/-yqfUhc4FQY

And I did it. Basically.  I think it looked as good as you could expect for a three-yard long piece of fabric with random slots and sashes that was handmade in a small fishing village in Italy.  I can now say I am as smart as a wrap skirt.  And it stays in the rotation.

Unlike today's dress.  I spent all day wishing I hadn't worn it, and when I got home, I announced to my patient, long-suffering husband that I was discarding it.  He was supportive, as always.  A little too supportive.  So I asked his opinion.  His response? "Well, it makes you look like you are 50."  (Editor's note: while my patient, long-suffering husband is north of 50, I still have a decent amount of breathing room before I get there.)  He tried to soften the blow by suggesting that I shouldn't try to dress too young, either.  "I'm not saying you should wear jellies and a mini-skirt."  Jellies? And a mini-skirt? Is that what the kids are wearing these days?  I didn't think so.  Bottom line - the dress goes away.  But I am not replacing it with jellies and a mini-skirt.  And now I am seriously questioning my patient, long-suffering husband's sense of fashion.