When I was very young, I went away for a while, to a foreign land where everything was ridiculously inexpensive. Because of this, I stayed in a lovely place where everyone knew my name and where handsome waiters escorted me to my table each evening, a table where chardonnay and assorted canapes lay in wait. At night, I would meet people--fascinating people from all over the world--and they would talk to me about New York and London and Tokyo and glamorous international locales. They would tell me where to go and what to eat and what to buy and why. (Sometimes, the men would offer to escort me back to my lodgings, to make sure I was safe, or to talk more about how their family escaped from Somalia with no shoes on and how hard things were. Or maybe they just wanted to compare frequent flyer programs and the best airline credit cards on offer.)
When I wasn't at the local bar, I went shopping on weekends and because of the strength of my currency relative to theirs, I stocked up on all sorts of expensive things that were ridiculously inexpensive. Lovely frivolous things. Like underwear. Reams and reams of underwear.
I do not regularly wear what one would define as lingerie. Most usually, I am a functional sort. But this particular year, I did purchase lingerie. In all sorts of colors. My favorite, a snappy set in turquoise and teal that felt strong and durable and long-lasting. A set because when everything is inexpensive, sets are important. I bought all sorts of sets in all sorts of colors. Maybe 20 in all. Maybe 25. For the few men that met me that year in the dark, I was a surprise every time.
I felt good during my time away. Tan and strong and happy. Sunshine spoke to me daily, if not hourly. I think I may have even felt TALL during my time away. Verrrrry very tall.
But then eventually it came time to leave this paradise of complimentary cocktails, free bar snacks and inexpensive sexy lingerie (a good name for a band if there ever was one), and I found myself once again in wool and corduroy in the arctic tundra of middle-America."I bought a lot of nice lingerie while I was away," I said one day, to some people who had asked how things had been. "It was very inexpensive there. And of good quality."
"Let's hope you don't gain any more weight," said one of the some, over their shoulder, as they walked away, down a long and dark and narrow hallway. And I sat there, covered up in my winter-y turtleneck yet still strong and tan and happy and tall. And I wondered out loud, "Who says these things?"
When I wasn't at the local bar, I went shopping on weekends and because of the strength of my currency relative to theirs, I stocked up on all sorts of expensive things that were ridiculously inexpensive. Lovely frivolous things. Like underwear. Reams and reams of underwear.
I do not regularly wear what one would define as lingerie. Most usually, I am a functional sort. But this particular year, I did purchase lingerie. In all sorts of colors. My favorite, a snappy set in turquoise and teal that felt strong and durable and long-lasting. A set because when everything is inexpensive, sets are important. I bought all sorts of sets in all sorts of colors. Maybe 20 in all. Maybe 25. For the few men that met me that year in the dark, I was a surprise every time.
I felt good during my time away. Tan and strong and happy. Sunshine spoke to me daily, if not hourly. I think I may have even felt TALL during my time away. Verrrrry very tall.
But then eventually it came time to leave this paradise of complimentary cocktails, free bar snacks and inexpensive sexy lingerie (a good name for a band if there ever was one), and I found myself once again in wool and corduroy in the arctic tundra of middle-America."I bought a lot of nice lingerie while I was away," I said one day, to some people who had asked how things had been. "It was very inexpensive there. And of good quality."
"Let's hope you don't gain any more weight," said one of the some, over their shoulder, as they walked away, down a long and dark and narrow hallway. And I sat there, covered up in my winter-y turtleneck yet still strong and tan and happy and tall. And I wondered out loud, "Who says these things?"
No comments:
Post a Comment