More thoughts run through my head in 60 seconds of blank staring than most people process in a day. Very few of these musings resemble my actual life. Actually, there is marked disparity. (Think: apples and orangatans.)

The most recent collision of reality and my inner world happened as I accompanied my best pal (Winnie*) on a shopping sortie to Copley. Cast in the role of consumerist wing woman, I kept my eyes peeled for classic silhouettes that fell within her color palette.

Of course, altruism takes a back seat once I cross through the threshold of a BCBG Max Azria store. The back of that store has a gravitational pull under which I am powerless. Their party frocks are fab and I can immediately visualize myself coyly sipping a cocktail served in impractically shaped glassware. As I thumb through the racks of floor length gowns Winnie quips in her affably sarcastic sing-songy tone: “Never too early to plan for prom, eh?”

Touché, my dear friend; touché indeed. After 20 years of best friendship, she knows me all too well. The thought of another person knowing the floor plan of one’s mangled psyche may be terrifying to some, it is one of my greatest comforts to share this reciprocal shorthand. I just laughed and lobbed it back: “Hey- ya never know. This could be my year.”

Here’s the kicker: already, I have enough formal wear that you’d think I was an aspiring game show hostess investing vowel money in a professional wardrobe. That makes perfect sense considering:

*Tuesday 1/2 price burger night is the social highlight of my week

*My boyfriend:
—lives in Asia.
—takes pride in not owning a pair of shoes.

The storm in my brain came up with two possible solutions as impractical as they are warped.

*Host a Spinster Gala.
Breathe mints optional;
Cat required.

*Check with Vanna White to inquire about a closet swap: her wash-and-wear travel clothing for my finery.

“Yo Whitey- hit me back, ahhh-ight? I gots a favor to axe.”

N.B.: Alternate suggestions welcome as class participation is encouraged and will count for 30% of your final grade.

Tags: Asia, aspiring game show hostess, BCBG Max Azria store, head, kicker, New Brunswick, possible solutions, Vanna White, wash-and-wear travel clothing

“I met my boyfriend at the airport last month.”

That statement looks simple enough but like most things in life, the true meaning is open to interpretation. To wit:

➥ The narrator is romantically involved in a serious enough capacity that the threshold of tentative exclusivity* had been crossed. (Travel concierge services are typically reserved for phase 2** or 3*** of a relationship.)

➥ A flame was kindled in a TSA detention cell – an impressive feté of personal chemistry considering lighters are contraband in any international airport of significance.

➥ Hypothetically, one could imagine mutual literary pursuits forging a connection. While not ‘literally’ ‘official’ it wouldn’t take a rocket surgeon to figure that several indicators symptomatic of a figurative phase 2 were present.

Let’s re-cap:
Phase 1*
Beta Faze

Phase 2**
Two individuals wearing synchronous dopey/addled looks as if in a constant state of running open-armed-daisy-field marathons.

Phase 3***
Flannel pajama pants are donned in lieu of wearing make-up. (Well for women that is… men wearing makeup is usually a pre-cursor to phase 4b****.) Shlep and fetch duties have become an unspoken mandate.

Phase 4a
Happily ever after – two individuals fuse to form a collective entity. (Oh Whitnard- if only I had the time and motivation for a photoshoperama session.)

Phase 4b****
Unhappily ever after – while I am very supportive of alternative lifestyles I, personally, do not wish to date a man who would borrow, stretch and ruin any of my favorite apparel. (A provisional exemption was granted once for Halloween but I don’t see that permit being renewed.)

Tags: concierge services, Halloween, rocket surgeon