Yesterday afternoon, to calm racing thoughts and to make sense of what my daughter said to me, I walked into Matches.
I’m attending a dressy, fun/fund-raising event on Saturday. Originally I was just going to recycle something from Chinese New Year, like that Self-Portrait I brought home.
But my lurching heart needed to be subdued. I was in need of a black or white dress. Or a black and white dress.
Now that I know how inconsistent and tiny Self-Portrait cuts, I saved time by asking for the larger sizes- 10, 12 to try on.
Terrific. Size 10 is coming home with me. Total time spent shopping thus far- under 5 minutes.
When the year leaps once in a long while, something about suiting up in black obliterates noise, frees the mind, quiets palpitations of the heart.
You have a daughter? The SA exclaims in disbelief. How old is your daughter? The SA suddenly needs to sit down. But, but… You look like, in your… 20s!!!!
Oh, 20s was last century.
I have a daughter. She’ll be 20 in September. My daughter is grown up.