Pilgrim

Yesterday, I was on a pilgrimage. It was an unusual pilgrimage for me. I was going to buy a dress.

This was not unusual in that I liked clothes; however, it was unusual given that I most wore mostly vintage dresses. The most unusual thing was that I was going to the mall to look for something different or so I thought.

I think that was my first mistake, equating “different” with the “mall.” I must have had some sort of mental lapse. Though, the trip had another purpose, which was to pick up a present for a friend, and the mall, Target exactly, was the perfect place to find it.

The dress was really only an instant gratification craving, the present for my friend was a given, and, on second and third thought, the trip was really only to get myself out of the house to avoid another episode of Bridezillas.

I don’t know why I even watched Bridezillas. Of course, please think more of me, because, at least, I admit to watching it every now and then. I cannot explain why the whole marriage thing intrigued me, though it could be because I had always felt the “almost perfect” marriage thing had eluded me all these years.

Anyway, as some of you know, I have a vast vintage wardrobe, some of which I will only ever wear in the comfort of my own bedroom whilst playing dress up. I thought dress up ended when I was 9 years old, too. Apparently, you can still play dress up when you’re 40-something; remember, I admitted it so please think more of me for coming clean!

Some of these dresses are much too fancy for my job. My job really only requires jeans and a t-shirt. Actually, my job really might only require a potato sack skirt with a Hefty trash bag top!

Every now and then, I go up to the attic to visit my dresses. For me, it’s like a museum. Clothes in general and my clothes are like art, wearable art.

While Iz’s Dad is three inches shorter than me, I hope she turns into the Amazon that I am. I envision her at 15 years old being 5’8” (that’s what the Mom’s-height-Dad’s height calculator predicts) and pawing through the dresses in the Jean Museum of Vintage Clothing which will be then housed in my huge walk-in closet. Someday George Clooney and my walk-in closet will come!

Iz'll ask, “Can I try this one on now, Mom?” I’ll say, “No!” and giggle. Then she’ll say, “I’m putting in on anyway,” and when we both have a dress on, we’ll parade around in front of the full-length mirror, accessorize each other, and then laugh at how silly and special we were.

I remember when I had my first date with my college boyfriend, Robert Caputo. I met him towards the end of my freshman year; our first real date was in the Summer. I was taking him to Walden Pond, given he was a city boy from Chelsea.

I didn’t know who was more anxious or excited about this date. Was it me or my Mom? My Mom decided that I needed to paint my toenails; this was something I never did back then, when now it is a twice a month addiction.

She bought a bottle of pink polish. The night before the date, she and I sat on my bed, she painting my toes. When she finished, she said, “There!” as if she had just put the finishing stroke on an unfinished Van Gogh.

I stretched out both my legs; we both looked at and then pondered my pink toenails. I looked at her, and then she looked at me. And, we both started to laugh hysterically.

Unfortunately, I got my Dad’s breasts and his toes. In fact, my brother has the same toes. He and I agreed long ago, and it could have been one of the few things we agreed on way back then, that we had Dad’s “crow toes.” By the way, the only thing that can make “crow toes” somewhat passable is slut-bitch-ho red nail polish.

I hoped that Iz and I would share the same moments. We’d laugh at ourselves as we gazed at our rhinestone and black crepe in the mirror. Above all, I hoped I’d just be here when she was 15.

Anyway, the pursuit for a dress at the mall was a dismal failure. Did you know that sadly women seem to rarely wear dresses anymore? I looked through all six women’s clothing stores at the mall, and I could not find a decent dress anywhere. Was it the Goddess of Vintage Fashion telling me that eBay and vintage clothing shows were my only answer?

The few dresses that I did find were black or gray, and how boring was that? It seemed that as far as mall dresses went, black and gray were the new chartreuse, azure, and fuchsia. How boring were Macy’s, The Gap, Banana Republic, Ann Taylor, and Talbot’s? Very!!!

I passed by Sephora, stopped in, glanced at a few things, and left without buying a thing. Yes, George, someone should have taken my temperature just then. I must have been ill, because it never seemed too hard for me to need a lipstick.

Perhaps Sephora wasn’t the same without the person who I always went there with. Iz was my right-hand Sephora girl. Without her, the whole mall trip seemed lonely, when 5 years ago, I’d walk the mall from end-to-end just to get away from my busy 2-year-old. They times they were a changin’.

I saw the Lindt chocolate store. Iz loved the “chocolate balls” which was what she called their truffles. I sighed and thought, “I don’t need to go there, because Iz isn’t here.” I then thought, “If I’m not going to bring home a dress, then I am going to bring home chocolate balls for someone who’d loved to have them.”

Then I headed to Target to buy staples and my friend’s present. I tossed my staples (deodorant, shaving cream, and Venus razor blades) into my carriage; okay, I didn’t really buy Venus razor blades, but, as an experiment, I wanted to see if Tammy from Venus might show up on my blog again. Remember, Big Sister Gillette is always watching your social media! ♥

My friend was challenged in the cooking area; he’d be the first to admit this. But, it wasn’t like he didn’t try. For a single Dad, he tried harder than most to always make his kids something they would like for dinner.

Lately, as some of you know, I had been inspired by my crock pot. I had been inspired to cook, and the people who loved me for it, inspired me to continue Friday after Friday. They were all amazed by my effort, but I was continually amazed that they loved what I made.

Anyway, on two different Fridays, my friend knew he had to make dinner for his son. I suggested he bring my crock pot leftovers home. On both occasions that he did this, the meal went over very well, especially when he prefaced to his son that he wasn’t the cook of the meal.

I told him that he should get a crock pot. He was always pretty busy on the weekends and he kept saying, “Yeah, I should get one.” I finally decided last Friday that I needed to get him one; in many ways, I didn’t need to get him one, but in many ways I knew I did.

I found the small appliance aisle in Target. There were about eight different crock pots; oddly, I found myself having a Sephora moment in small appliances. While I loved my Smashbox crock pot and its three different-sized pots, I drooled when I saw the Givenchy crock pot; it was programmable!

I selected a mid-size crock pot and put it in my carriage. It was a good starter crock pot. We all needed that starter crock pot like I had purchased two years ago, and we could all hope that Santa would bring us the over-the-top crock pot for Christmas if we were on the good sweet and sour kielbasa list.

After leaving Target, my present was not complete without the crock pot bible. I headed to Barnes and Noble, and $100 later, I had his bible, the updated crock pot bible for me, and two cool writing notebooks.

As I drove home, I realized that any pilgrimage is subject to the unknown. No matter what the goal, a pilgrimage is always a success. You search to find something; even if you don’t find all the things that you’re looking for, and you answer questions sometimes in a way that’s different than you expected. And, that’s what I love most about life, the unexpected pilgrimage. ♥