Archive for March, 2007
March 18, 2007
Where Is Hotclue When I Need To Borrow Her Body?
So my middle daughter has decided to get married early in April to The Most Wonderful Man In The World, which our entire family agrees is certainly true. A simple home wedding ceremony out on their terrace, party to follow, with fifty or so of their nearest and dearest. It all sounds so lovely and I know it will be.
Except for one thing. Me.
My God, WHEN will my daughters (I have three) EVER stop putting me through the shopping for the mother-of-the-bride dress thing? That just about tops my list of the most miserable events in the world, second only to hot flashes and trying on bathing suits at the local barge boutique.
I went to the mall the other evening looking for a nice outfit, only to discover there are no nice outfits–that I like anyway–for less than $275 On Sale. Which tells you one of the reasons why I rarely go shopping, and then only under duress. Champagne taste, beer pocketbook. True in the fifties, still true today.
The other reason–well, this is Hotclue’s blog, but it’s my personal reason. You remember I told you Hotclue is a perfect size 8? Or was it 6, I forget.
I’m not either of those sizes and my fruitless quest the other night proved it. There is nothing, repeat NOTHING worse than standing in front of a triple mirror and trying on several outfits on the ONE day in Chicago when it’s 80 degrees in March and the air conditioning hasn’t yet been turned on in the mall and everything you put on makes you look like a beached whale just out of the water.
One look in that triple mirror and all the sins of the past holiday season (oh, okay, I’ll come clean, the past few decades) are apparent. PLUS, and this is a big plus, all the clothes today seem to have ruffly cute little short sleeves or ruffly cute little things around the middle. There doesn’t seem to be anything for those of us who are more…well, let’s just say matronly. Yes. Matronly. That sort of describes the situation.
So I come home from the mall sweaty and miserable and empty-handed and find Hotclue sitting on one of my doll shelves fanning herself, wearing, of all things, a full Colonial hoop-skirted Southern Belle outfit. Pale green lace, ruffly white lace shoulders, ruffles around the hem, teeny white ballet slippers on her teeny white feet, and I have NO idea where she found the white lace gloves. But there she was.
Me: Hotclue, what are you doing in that outfit?
Hots: Practicing, of cawahse. Lawd ‘a mussy, ma’yam, you went shopping and came home with NOTHING?
Me: Excuse me? Practicing for what?
Hots: You foahgot Count Babalallapallozo is taking me down south to Gawgia? I want to make sure I’m prohpuhhly drayessed, don’tcha know.
Me: And you picked up that accent from which Berlitz book?
Hots (fanning herself): Ah watched Gawn With The Wiyund six tames today.
Me: Hots, I hate to tell you this but this is the 2000’s, not the 1860’s.
Hots: Ha! That’s all youawl know. Thiyas is a breakaway dreyass, the Count had it special made for me. Want to see how it works? She reaches for a ribbon around her waist.
Me: HOTS, NO!
(God knows what she’s got on underneath but according to Sarge, who said a little about it here last week, she got all her new undies at Victorias Secret. I don’t want to see any of it.) (Okay, the truth is, if you must know, I want to wallow in all of it.)
Me: (Down on my knees) I’ve got a deal for you, Hots.
Hots: (Peering at me over the top of her fan) And thayat would be?
Me: I want to borrow your body just for the next three weeks.
Hots: Ah declayah, y’all are goin’ ta give me the vapahs! (Fans herself rapidly this time.)
Me: Do you even know what the vapors are, Hots?
Hots: Weyall, not exactly, but ah huhd about it in GWTW. I think it was Miss Pittypat.
Me: (Sigh.) Back to the subject, Hots. MAY I borrow your body for the next three weeks?
Hots: Well, honeychile, now ah’d just luvvvv to do that for you, but the Count is actually waiting outside in his limo.
Me: Hots, wait, please, I really, TRULY need–
So now Hots is Gone With the Wind, and I’m sitting here staring at my–uh–not quite size eight body, wondering how many more malls I’m going to have to hit before I finally find something I like enough to actually give someone money for it.
Wish me luck, I’ll keep you posted!
Love you all, you know both Hots and I do (and so does Sarge!). Come back soon, ya hear us?
Beth, who, in the interests of full disclosure, is nowhere near a size 8, drat the luck and her genes and all the Dairy Queen Blizzards she consumed over the years.