This weekend, I came out of the closet – about this blog. First to Joe, in a post-massage two-Manhattans haze, never giving him the URL and knowing he’d never go looking for it (the man doesn’t even have voicemail, let alone an affinity for web 2.0).
I like to think that doesn’t count.
But today – today it was deliberate. I outed myself to two of those amazing women – Jenny and Jen. And the closet metaphor is a good one, because these are the two that I turn to when my actual closet is no longer cutting the mustard. It’s never outstanding, mind you, but this week its dismal contents got me to the point where, as Jenny mentioned, we had to venture out on one of my biannaul clothing stock ups.
I loathe clothes shopping, because I suck at it. For a long time, I described myself as fashion retarded, and I mean that
Okay, so maybe I'm not quite this bad!
word in the literal sense: when it comes to clothing, I am s-l-o-w. If it were up to me, I’d wear jeans and a black tee shirt every day, throwing in the intermittent skirt when the occasion calls for it. (When I mentioned that plan to Jenny and Jen, Jenny replied, “and that would be different how?”) So I tend to avoid shopping for as long as possible, then call on people with skills I don’t even begin to have, skills I truly marvel at, like mixing and matching colors, envisioning what that sweater might look like with this shirt and that pair of pants, honing in on the clearance item that fits well and brings out the color in their eyes.
They might as well be speaking Farsi or working with imaginary numbers for all the chance I have of understanding it.
By the grace of God, someone has always played this role in my life: in high school it was Danielle, in college it was Beth, and Julie and Angie have served in this office as well. I’m indebted to these women. They’ve taught this remedial student a thing or two (Raglan sleeves + big boobs = uh-gly), steered me clear from fashion disasters (Beth’s “Rona, what the hell are you thinking?!” has been uttered more than once), and – no exaggeration – brought me real peace of mind.
So I’ve come home from a truly satisfying day, spent in the company of two who have a hold on my heart, and I’m grateful – that the closet in my bedroom has been taken off life support once again, and that my writing closet has been flung open to good friends.
Pickle Dreams 
I found it! And I’m FAMOUS. Lovely post, my dear. I’ve just read the one entry so far, and found I was sort of giddy to be reading your blog for the first time. You are now in my favorite blog rotation.
And to clarify my quote above, it was all the more funny when you made this as a dramatic proclamation, “From now on, I’ve decided I’m only going to wear t-shirts with jeans and skirts and maybe the occasional jacket”, when to me, that was EXACTLY my vision of your existing wardrobe.
You choose to place importance on so much beyond your wardrobe, and that is to be admired. Yay – I’m off to keep reading….
Thanks friend! I’m giddy because you’re my first reader!
Did you know that if you google “Pickle Dreams” you get stuff about the nighttime brainwaves that occur after eating cucumbers soaked in vinegar? So glad you’re writing, and that I’ll have a chance to read about it. And I’d love to schedule some tax-free shopping expeditions for old times sake the next time you’re in P-town!
I learned that recently – and I have a story to tell! So glad you’re reading, and I would love to shop with you in P-town. I’m wearing the bargain black boots you found for me four or five years ago, now I need some brown ones!
My mom once wore a red, white and blue star-spangled one-piece jumpsuit when I was in first grade, and not for a costume party. You have never been that bad! And as for the writing closet…I feel like I just pushed past the fur coats and….yippee!!!!!!