It is almost unbearably hot even for a July afternoon.
"Robyn: if you loved yourself you would take better care of your health", says my friend Bev.
She is mainly speaking of my IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) which I am certain will be the cause of my untimely death at the extremely youthful age of 43.
I hear her.
However, it feels as though I am trying to process a foreign language.
"Do you think they will find John Jr.'s plane or should we ready ourselves for yet another Kennedy funeral?", I reply.
I give her no chance to offer her opinion as I pick up my shopping bags and leave the little over-priced gift shop... "Tomorrow my friend, tomorrow"..... I wave good-bye to her as I venture back out into the stifling heat.
"Bullshit retail" I mutter under my breath.
"Bullshit retail" is my assigned term for..." there is no real reason for this little shop of tchotkes to exist other than to charge exorbitant prices for useless stuff....this kind of retailing reached its height in the roaring eighties when we were all shitting one hundred dollar bills.
I ignore it.
On the other hand, if I had the guts to be a “bullshit retailer”, I wouldn’t be dying from Irritable Bowel Syndrome and the rubber cheques I have been bouncing all around town would come to an abrupt halt since there would be funds in my bank account to cover them.
I sigh.
Just like always, I am giving the store away.
Same old story: how do I know what to charge for my goods in my own boutique?
What are they/me really worth?
What If my customers’ say: “Who do you think you are Lady Jane?” while they empty their wallets paying for my inferior merchandise. God, I would be totally mortified as I snatched their last penny of disposable income out of their hands like a greedy little pig who is totally out of control.
Talking about little piggies, I am on my way downtown to the market to buy fruits and vegetables which I am sure will either make me shit through the eye of the needle or bind me up like some little pair of concubine’s feet.
I also need a new lipstick, pronto. This morning it just broke off when I tried to apply it to my lips.
Another shooting pain…. but this time it goes straight up my back.
What is it about life that once you clean up one area of your life….. without doubt…. another part of your life goes to hell in a hand basket?
Why can’t a woman have it all?
If I can’t have it all, how about that leopard bra? I am gazing into the window of “La Vie en Victoria’s Senza’s” store or whatever those chi chi lingerie boutiques are called, my eyes have spotted the ultimate leopard undergarment.
I covet the leopard bra.
In my humble opinion, the summer of 1999 will forever go down in the fashion annals as the summer of the leopard bra. I venture in and ask the little salesgirl who is all over me within seconds exactly how much for Jane of the jungle’s leopard brassiere.
Thirty-five dollars.
I wince as I smile and say: “too rich for my blood”.
I move along to the drugstore eyeing the wall of lipstick while still thinking of that unattainable leopard bra.
What would happen if I acted like a fiscally irresponsible crazy woman and bought the bra?
“My life would completely fall apart”: I tell myself as I shudder at the thought of being hauled off to Debtor’s jail.
Ah! THE REDS.
There are more shades of red lipstick than any girl could ever dream of on this wall. I start with the cheapest selection. I learned that from my mother. My mother was a “Hazel Bishop” woman. There wasn’t a cosmetic company that put out a lipstick that was ever cheaper than “Hazel’s” little wondrous tubes
of economy.
My eyes go directly to a sensational color of red.
The shade reminds of the color John Kennedy Junior’s wife: Carolyn Bessette wears. I wonder if they have found the plane.
My eyes go directly to a sensational color of red.
The shade reminds of the color John Kennedy Junior’s wife: Carolyn Bessette wears. I wonder if they have found the plane.
My stomach starts to make very loud and frightening noises and I almost double over in pain.
I think about what my friend Bev said earlier about if I loved myself…I would treat myself with respect.
If I could find some self-love and some self-respect what would happen?
What would that look like?
How would that feel?
What if I made my bowels my priority?
What if I knew exactly what my services were worth?
What really happens to a woman who DARES to buy herself the creamiest lipstick the cosmetic industry has ever made.
Would there be a life for me if I dared to walk out on the man who is making my life a living hell because he can’t choose between two women?
Owning a few leopard bras couldn’t possibly lead to Debtor’s jail could it?
I have no answers.
All I know is I feel bereft.
I pay for my AFFORDABLE tube of lipstick.
As I open the door to the farmer's market, I hear the hushed tones of death.
People are talking about how short life is.
How we never know when we wake up in the morning if this is our last day on this earth.
“John Jr. and his wife didn’t make it to the wedding, did they?” I query.
The market lady is packing up my groceries.
“No, they didn’t”: the market lady informs me.
We are both stunned by the news.
I tell her to enjoy what is left of the weekend as I put my change back into my bag.
The flower stall next to her is filled with the fragrance of fresh flowers.
If this story wasn’t true, you know I would have bought a huge bouquet of roses and peonies and gladioli…and every other flower the stall offered, not to mention the happily-ever-after aspect.
But this story is true and I didn’t buy myself a bouquet of anything.
A woman who buys herself a bouquet of flowers on a beautiful July afternoon, especially after she hears about a tragedy…… is a woman with her priorities in order.
She is a woman who knows her worth.
She is a woman who understands life is short and she might never see tomorrow.
One day, I hope I meet that woman.
And I bet you dollars to doughnuts that woman will be wearing a leopard bra.
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