Just click your heels together three times...

Are You Really What You Wear?

I suppose we all have a costume that we wear in one way or another... We all play a role. In a neat and tidy world. Dorothy had her role woth Toto in a beautiful blue ginham dress, Charlie Chaplan was approachable in the oversized pants and bowler hat. June Cleaver in the fities style dress and high heeled shoes.

We all have a costume or uniform that states what 'we do'...

The butcher wears his white robes laced with pieces of meat stuck on the front, the crossing guard with the giant orange vest and stop sign, the policeman that has to taken to wearing baseball cap so that he would be more approachable, and a doctor who wear the big white lab coats for goodness knows what reason... probably the same as the butchers.. .

My costume of life is that of jeans, running shoes, Doc Martans, t-shirt, sweater, hair tied back, no make up and sunglasses. I have my daughter on my right side singing at the top of her lungs and I have my black, small, approachable black dog who is wearing all his dog tags that say that he is owned and is not the carrier of rabies. Basically in my mind's eye I am like a Mrs. Cleaver minus the green apron and the perky disposition.

My daughter seems to replicate my uniform, except that she likes her hair down, and she will wear lipgloss on occasion. Part of her ensemble is a knapsack that is larger than her upper torso which gives her the appearance of a purple hunchback going to school.

My husband's uniform is that of black jeans, or blue jeans, an undershirt and dress shirt, he carries a black nylon swiss army briefcase that holds his lunch and reading materials.
In his dress shirt pocket he carries his Nano that have white, dangling, earplugs and he wears dark Ray Ban sunglasses. The ensemble makes him look like a secret service agent...

My daughter purchased a pair of shoes for me this past Christmas... They were patent leather, three inches high, and scarlet red... She was so happy giving them to me... I just looked at them in disbelief.. I looked at the box, looked at the shoes, looked at my daughter who's face was full of anticipation and looked beseachingly over at my husband who just said...'She saw them, and HAD to get them for you!'

My daughter then shrieked...'You can wear them, when you come to pick me up from school!'

Oh yeah. What costume are we talking here... Albeit I have the black dog...

Well, the shoes stayed in their box. And my daughter would continually ask 'when are you going to wear my present???'

The day arrived when I was going to attend a big party at a new, fancy, hip, club/hotel. I was to meet my husband at the club and from there we were going to rendez-vous with the larger group of people... A grown up party!

I decided that my Christmas shoes would work for this occasion.

So I dusted them off... Searched the closet for an costume that would compliment the shoes.
I chose... a black Ellen Tracy tuxedo blouse, a red, Georgio Armani skirt, fishnet stockings and my new red shoes.
I seem to put myself into a whole new aura with just a change of clothing. A groovy girl. A gal who is hot. A gal who is going to meet her man. I was a funky, hip, young, chick! The outfit screamed no responsibilty...Look out!

My daughter squealed with delight when she saw that her Christmas shoes were on my feet and I was taking flight.

With all the encouragement from my cheerleader daughter I left with my house with my head held high and my high heel shoes clicking with great purpose on the sidewalk. I was out of my Doc Martans, I was out of my jeans, I was feeling cool and I was heading to the new and cool club/hotel in a grown up costume without the props of dog or daughter.

My husband is always late. Always. There is always an excuse but he would be late for just about anything... He always saunters in with a smile, unplugs himself from the sanctum of the nano and joins in with an apologetic smile.

This was the grand opening of the hotel and I should have known this would not be any different than any other time meeting him.

He was late. Very late.

I was just waiting in the lobby, pacing in my red high heel shoes, with fishnet stockings aimlessly looking around. I had no idea where I was to go so I was left in the lobby to pace. I was just pacing in my mini shirt. I was just pacing in my fishnet stockings. I was just pacing in my three inch high red shoes. I was looking at the ceiling, watching the people enter on the red carpet and then it happens....

'Excuse me Maaaaaam... But... we have a.... no loitering policy at the hotel.'

No Loitering???
No Loitering???

I look at this young whippersnapper in his hot black pants, his crisp black shirt, surfer blonde hair, his gold bracelet, his gold earing and his Maui tattoo ...

Ohhhh Myyyyy Gaaaawwwddddd....

The Dolce&Gabbana consierge/the bouncer/the young/goodlooking/suave/hipster/thought I, ME,
Maam,
Mrs. Doc Martan,
Mrs. Sensible,
Mrs.
MOMMA,
Mrs June Cleaver with attitude,
was a HOOKER!!!!!!!!!!!

Amazing, what I appear to others, when I am without my props!

Maybe next year, for Christmas, I may get the green apron! or the blue, gingham, dress....