This beauty came all the way from Chicago. [“Sheee-cah-go! Sheee-cah-go!” so sings my Broadway-vet grandmother. She also wears Minnetonka mocs. More on her another time.] In your head, I want you to imagine a little dot moving down Michigan Avenue, into a FedEx store, then the red dotted line that arcs up over the country from Chicago to Albany, then another little dotted line (courtesy my friend the FedEx man, holla) and onto my doorstep where Eli prompty bit holes in the box and pushed it off the counter.
She is a dream. Like a summer weight/summer length caftan with a fringe I wish all my garments came with.
It’s all thanks to M.F., a friend/reader I probably share waaay too much personal information with for her liking, but simply adore. I daydream about drinking wine with her, with her view of the city, watching her pooch nom some kibbles*. So I felt no shame in asking her if she might happen to be stopping in any Zara stores in my old stomping grounds, and if so, would she keep her eyes peeled for this?
Peeled, peeped, packaged, and on my doorstep (with goodies for Eli, too! I know, I almost wept.).
So now an overindulgent, off-topic question. See those nearly raven locks in the first photo? They’ve been getting darker as the years have gone by, in conjunction with my retreat from the sun in an effort to counteract years growing up in Florida** and I sort of hit a breaking point with all the white and the black. The one-dimensional. So I made an appointment for Saturday to have it lightened, but not in an overall way. In a Jessica Biel way. Bad idea? Long overdue change? Let me know.
I hesitate in posting more pics of this poncho because I’ve barely taken it off and it’s sure to come back and bore you all to death a hundred more times. Maybe I can work in Spencer and Heidi’s crystals, or cat-eye marbles or tea leaves or something for extra interest?
*Details omitted for his dignity.
**I sat in the sun on the mountain in Vermont on Sunday for like a freaking SECOND and have the worst sunburn of my entire life. 2500 ft altitude will do that to you—it may be closer to God, but it’s also closer to cancer. So picture those white feet above a nice shade of salmon. Why didn’t anyone warn me? I guess Daedalus wasn’t given any favors, either.
MF—baby—gorgeous—this one’s for you.
[Frank Sinatra, “Chicago”]