Sometimes I sit on the sofas at Z Gallery and pretend it is my living room. I love to walk slowly around Armstrong Gardens and listen to the classical music. It makes me feel cultured. And sometimes, just sometimes, when I'm having a skinny day, I go to Anthropologie and try on outfits that are way out of my price range and spritz on perfume that is not my personality at all.And if I really need a pick-me-up, I tip toe into my son's room when he is sleeping and touch his soft cheeks, which are the only baby thing to be found on his skinny little boy body, and pretend that he is one again and we have all our happy days ahead of us.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
When I was little, I loved to play school. I, of course, was always the teacher, while my little sister assumed the part of my pupil. Bossy people tend to like to be the teacher. That's just the way things are.
Sometimes I still wish I was the teacher. In Chicago, or some other weatherly place. Then I could wear clothes like these.
And I could take an apple to school in one of these.
I have been under the impression for some years now that the world of pretend is owned and run by children. However, I have been pleasantly surprised to find that, at 34, my imagination is as active as ever. Sometimes it causes problems. Like when I conjure up grandiose plans for parties, projects, vacations and the like. Martha Stewart has ruined reality. But every now and then it really comes in handy. Like when I'm feeling down and out, or just generally unattractive. There are a handful of stores that I go to that make me feel better. I don't even buy anything.