I’m having lunch tomorrow with a man. Yeah, don’t get excited—he’s married, we’re buds, and it’s a college alumni thing. But I think I should still get points for being social with a guy, right? Fine.
I’ve mentioned before that with the exception of a radically uncharacteristic boot purchase in December, I’m not really a fashion girl…or a make-up girl…or a hair brush girl… or…. Actually, I’m the kind of girl who frequently forgets to look in the mirror. Sure, I glance in the mirror as an incidental thing, but I don’t really spend much time there. This could possibly explain why I’m periodically surprised to see random things growing out of my face. It can actually be quite scary because I will suddenly notice a random eyebrow hair that looks like it’s about to eat a major metropolitan area, and then I have to wonder how long it has been there.
What does this fascinating ride through my toilette have to do with lunch? I’ve now spent more time trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow than I have in the last 3 months combined. Since I shun all forms of actual self-analysis, I hesitate to really examine my motivations here (but since I’m temporarily out of new X-Files videos to download, I will).
What I can tell you is the state of my fashion distress probably has nothing to do with the fact that the guy I’m meeting is friends with The Ex and knows The Ex’s new wife. Yeah, that’s just silly. Why would I care? I so don’t care. That’s just… uh, crazy talk. Seriously, that hasn’t even crossed my mind more than once or twice or…. What are you people smoking? I can’t believe you even suggested it.
Ok, it might in a tiny, minute, absolutely infinitesimal way have something to do with it. It’s not like I’d come up in conversation. They probably haven’t even spoken all that often since the wedding. But there is a dark, unappealing part of me that wants to be even more fabulous than I already am. You know, in that special way that will result in him saying to The Ex (if they talk again at any point in the next 10 years), “How did you let that one go? Damn, she’s so spectacular—mysterious, chic with a dash of Laura Ingalls. I think even George Clooney has been calling. Plus, I’m absolutely buying my wife boots just like the ones she wore”.
How wrong is that? After all this time, why on earth would I care? And yet, those thoughts are swimming around in me as vicarious revenge fantasies. I can’t win the guy, so I want to “win” the post-break-up perception.
Well, at least the Jimmy Choos will make it out of my closet.
Kate, standing in front of my closet singing along with Bree Sharp’s “David Duchovny, Why Won’t You Love Me” song