For Christmas (the only five days of the year when the five of us will all definitely be in the same place)----my family believes in elasticized waistbands, three lunches a day, Backgammon, Scrabble, afternoon naps and going out in whatever one happens to be wearing. Going out is a tremendous inconvenience and we punish it by not brushing our hair and leaving the house in semi pajamas. Somehow it doesn't matter. As I grew up here the damage is done. Braces, purple corduroy, yellow velour short shorts, green roller skates worn with woolly red knee socks, grey and pink leg warmers, matching pink Adidas shirt, shorts, shoes and socks, penny loafers with the penny inside, an unfortunate 'prairie' skirt phase, tutus in winter, quarter inch bangs I cut myself--this city has seen it all.
We have snow on the ground--well snow, slush, and unidentified grey funk (part melted newspaper and part slushy mud). For Christmas my brother gave my sister and I fantastic bright yellow knee-high wellies. Identical fantastic bright yellow knee-high wellies. Yesterday, without fear or apprehension, my sister and I ventured out in our matching Donald Duck-esque booties into the fancy new Sephora, Neiman Marcus, Saks and Barney's Coop that have opened near our house. People looked, people giggled and my brother took photos.
My Christmas crazy sister insisted we walk across the street to the Starbucks--she loves the Christmas cups at Starbucks (as well as the seasonal Santas on the Christmas Coke cans). As we walked in yellow bootie unison, I remembered what it was like to be ten years old and go out wearing a giant tutu over your jeans on a Wednesday. No justification or explanation ever offered to spectators. parents or other kids. Just because. "Just because" was all the justification I ever needed as a kid--there is something to that. Tutus are brilliant. I should wear them more often.
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