Tag Archives: fashion

Need some booty

I just decided footsy pajamas are appropriate for a woman of my age; I’m 50-onesie.



Brimfield Flea Market is host to antiques, industrial salvage, oddities, miles of fields and food vendors as well as paintings, porters and dealer personalities. These antique dealers stage their tents awaiting sales while buyers scope the huge territory waiting for just the right item. My September visit demonstrated both sides of that vintage coin. A dealer’s display of this  little guy stopped me in my tracks. What is he waiting for?

– a glass display box?

– the next onlooker reaction?

– better eyeware fashion?

– someone to purchase him?

– his next meal?

I know, perhaps:

– sunlight?


– an undertaker? 

It seems the taxidermist left him in the dark and feeling a little stuffed.
Photo challenge

Yoga pants can die

Our washer was on the fritz, so I headed to the local laundromat after work one day. I was upset but I didn’t have to break down too. It was just laundry I couldn’t do within the comfort of my own home. All I needed to do was break a Jackson to get enough quarters for three loads of laundry. 

I’d put all the baskets in my car before work. After getting off the train, I drove down the road to “Bubble-It” and found three washers in a row near the door and the plate glass. How much was that laundry in the window? 


After playing washing machine slots to get all the washers tumbling, I set my alarm and drove farther down the street to visit my parents until time was up. I headed back knowing I had quarters left in my roll but reminded myself it was my washer that broke, not my dryer. I thought I’d just load up my wet laundry and let it take a spin at home. However, that was before I realized I’d have to heft about 187 pounds of wet clothes and towels in and out of my car. 

I did the math of both time and expense and decided at 25 cents for seven minutes, I could stay for another 21 minutes and complete the task at hand. It was dark outside when I started but I had The Sun magazine to keep me company. Other dryers were going and people seemed to come and go, so I stayed to play again in my new found casino.

I counted out 9 more quarters and gambled on whether my towels would be fluffy enough to take back home. The dryers were popular. There weren’t three in a row and I hadn’t bet on that. A couple of dryers were also broken and there were no floor attendants to assist with the non-functioning machines here.  I used one available dryer near the window and I found two more, one up and one down, toward the end of the row.

Once each of the three were spinning, I rotated back to the front window and got lost in my favorite magazine. After absorbing two articles, I got up to check the timers. 1, 2, 3 minutes left…each was almost done as a man came in to take out his clothes as well.

We said hello, wished each other a Merry Christmas and then got talking about his little kids. My first alarm went off as he added that he had six kids. I started folding as he mentioned their range in age and that he’d gotten started later in life. I folded another pair of yoga pants as he said he had just enough time to get back home and see them before bed. He finished putting all the clothes from his second dryer into a sack, threw it over his shoulder and took off like Santa Claus.

Once he was gone, I opened my own drawstring bag and put all my daughters intimates inside. I folded a couple of towels and wondered where the brown one came from? It’s always interesting doing dorm laundry. I find new clothes bought from a mall outing or stiff bathing suits that never got hung to dry.

I saw a ‘Pink’ wasteband and wondered exactly how many pairs of yoga pants my daughter now had? I folded it and added the Victoria Secret pant to its black pile in my laundry basket. I pulled out the matching zippered hoodie and was glad my daughter seemed to no longer wear XS clothes. While I was folding her stuff, I had heard the other dryers go off. One had our towels and sheets and the other load contained the clothes of my husband and I. 

I know my daughters refold any clothes I wash for them but I figured it would keep the wrinkles at bay until they were put away. I had purposely left the jeans for last. If they weren’t 100% dry, I could finish drying them when I got home. 

It was late, I was tired and there was nobody left in the building to distract me. I refocused on my task at hand and decided I could fold the other two loads at home. That’s when I noticed the jeans were from Old Navy. My 20-year-old may buy a workout top from there but we’d not bought  jeans from there in years.

Hell no, I thought, as I held them up in front of me.

…her jeans were not a size 16!

The fucking brown towel was not her roommates.

She does NOT own 53 pairs of yoga pants. 

…I’d touched someone else’s underwear!!

I threw everything back into the bohemouth machine as fast as I could. I dumped the drawstring bag of intimates out on top of the damn laundry that I’d taken the time to fold, closed the door and made sure nobody was coming back into the laundromat at that moment.

I turned back to see my daughter’s laundry sitting at rest in the next machine. I threw it all into my basket, wrinkles and all, and ran outside with her unbagged undergarments.

I doubled-back for our towels and sheets and made a second run for my car. The last of the loot was still inside. My own clothes were the ones in the front window, on the top, I reminded myself as I ran back in for the last of our laundry. 

Time was suddenly of the essence. I’d spent 21-minutes waiting for dry laundry and God only knows how much longer violating someone else’s.

I did not want to come face-to-face with whoever it was. They couldn’t know who was behind their night time panty raid. It was a gamble to get out unnoticed. Too many minutes had passed.

I hedged my bets and left my dryer sheets and detergent bottle. Merry Christmas to them. I just wanted to be back in the comfort of my New England home.

In the woods. 

Where I could finally break down, realize the error of my sleepy ways and count my losses.

Fashion Statement

My youngest daughter was never a huge shopper.  When she was an early teenager at the mall, she took forever to pick out an outfit.  It was a point of exhaustion – she circled back to each store three times before a decision was made.  As she got older and had money of her own, what she did spend was minimal and  thoughful.   It became a point of pride for me – she knew the value of a dollar and didn’t create impulsive looks.

Nowadays she seems even more frivolous and thoughtful of her image.  She buys an item and once it’s home, she admits to herself that she doesn’t need it.  Away at college, she orders something on-line from time-to-time.  When she comes home, she wants to return the item.

That’s where I come in. 

She has me do her bidding:

  • I remember one of the first times we made a return at the mall.  I was glad she wanted to spend time with me.
  • The second time, it felt great to be a Mom taking care of her baby girl.
  • The third time, I worried that she was shy or perhaps I was enabling her?

If she was the driver, in another store or sick at home – I was her front man.  I did not mind going to a trendy store counter stating, ‘it is too small’.

After another year of this behavior, I’m smarter.

I’ve also become

leary – skeptical – suspicious

forever 21 side

Although I don’t know why – she has the receipts.  Well, if she doesn’t, she has the tags. The stores have policies and procedures for returns.

Last weekend her grandmother and I picked her up before Easter.  She asked if we could go to the Harley shop to return a shirt before we got on the highway.  She drove us to the city dealership but wanted to stay in the car and visit with Grammie.  She handed me a bag.

It didn’t seem like a manipulation.

She and her Dad had been to the Harley Davidson shop the prior weekend to use her Christmas gift card. I was happy to give my daughter and Grammie some 1×1 time.  I held my own walking into the bike shop.  I felt confident in my jeans and about my transaction.

I was greeted at the door and brought over to ‘the ladies’ at the clothing counter.  I told them I wanted to exchange the small shirt in my bag for a medium.  I didn’t think it was a problem.  It was a Harley shirt – from their dealership.

The one time I didn’t have a receipt or a tag, I was questioned – twice.   The manager was summoned.  I assured her I just wanted to complete an exchange.  She acknowledged me but continued to key the numbers on the inside label.

I started to feel like it was a setup.

The feeling was confirmed when the woman with the tight black T-shirt (well – the one with the manager tag on her full bossom) turned back toward me.  She told me the shirt style I had was only sold eight months ago.  Their return policy was thirty days.

I felt like I deserved thirty days.  I won’t be making any more returns.  I also don’t think I’ll return to that Harley dealership. My daughter didn’t have much to say for herself.  So, I spoke instead – something about exhaustion and not being proud.

Jeepers Peepers, where’d you get those ears?

My birthday present was like nothing I’d ever seen…although I am a fan and collector of vintage Fisher Price:


My brother-in-law made me some custom miniaturized peep earrings. His sense of humor, adding a couple of gray hairs on the side, was not lost on me…or mother bear:


The little girl was added fun too:


Not to outdo himself, my broth-in-law also created a set of dogs:


They are the favorites with my fellow collectors.

Clearly, I’m the family favorite – to be so gifted.


Yesterday I wasn’t sure what to wear. I didn’t have to work, would be outside and also end up at the mall. We’d probably all go out to lunch too. My outfit had to be versatile and breezy. I don’t how many times I fussed…I changed my shoes twice and my top several more..or was it the other way around?

I looked at what I had on…dressed up jeans and sandals…and I asked these questions:

  • Would these clothes work?
  • Could I also wear them to check my antique booth later in the day?
  • Did the outfit need something else?

I reached for my trustworthy devotional calendar for answers:

“You’re loved in this moment, just the way you are – and you’re on your way to becoming all God created you to be.”

I went on my way, with some added confidence, feeling very becoming.

…and let me add – as I finished this post I read today’s entry as well:

“My God is “changeless” in His love for me.”!!

Beyond Ridiculous

Posts like my last wardrobe malfunction allow me to laugh at myself.

Little did I know there would be a Part II to that entry!

My errands today included going to Bed, Bath and Beyond for a mini garment steamer for my daughter.  She works in hospitality and I wanted to surprise her with it when she visited tonight.

I then went across the plaza to another large retailer to return my other daughter’s bathing suit.  She recently got her certification to be a lifeguard and the one-piece we’d bought didn’t fit the proper color requirements.

At the return counter, I met up with my sister’s sister-in-law.  We chatted there and then walked to the connected Starbucks so she could get here Grande-mocha-something-chai with whipped cream and caramel swirl.

But I digress….

After she spent $47.50 on her beverage, we finished our conversation outside the front of the store.  Her husband, a local referee that we’ve known for years, picked her up at the door.  I approached the car and wished him a happy, early Father’s Day and went on my way.

I was far beyond my shopping time but felt good about meeting up with some old friends.  The best made plans are unmade plans.  As I climbed into my car, I looked down at the steering wheel and noticed the sticker on my blouse.

The best made Bed, Bath & Beyond price tags are the ones that stay on the products!