Fashion Is Taking Women Down
February 18, 2013 § 35 Comments
In my research for an upcoming column on magazine ads and spring fashion (oh yes, we’re going there again), I spotted an alarming trend — one that needs to be addressed before we talk about anything else: Fashion seems to be causing women to collapse.
I don’t mean economically collapse or morally collapse or anything deep and metaphorical like that. I mean, chicks are literally falling down. Look what all these hot new outfits are doing to the women who wear them:
(Pardon the bad photography, by the way. I was just snapping pics while reading my latest issue of Elle magazine.)
* * *
It starts with a little stumble. “Hey, do you guys like my new jeans? I’m just going to sit down here on this ch… this cha… Oh, help me, someone, I’m so weak…”
* * *
Then there’s the denial phase. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just going to lean on this wall here. Everything’s fine. Sure, my legs went out from under me, but whatevs, this dress is spanktabulous, so suck it, everybody wearing last year’s sundress.”
* * *
Before long, there’s no choice but to hit the ground. “Dammit, where did that floor come from? Who put a mirror there? Are those my legs? Is my thigh really that thin? Or do I have an arm growing out of my ass where a leg should be? Why can’t I get up?”
* * *
It could happen to anyone. Even Kate Hudson. “I’ve fallen. And I’m not talking about the fact that once upon a time I was Penny Lane in Almost Famous and it was totally the greatest movie ever and now I’m stuck doing Ann Taylor ads. I mean I can’t get up off this chaise. Is my head still attached? Is this my face?”
* * *
It could even happen on a boat. “You guys? Hey, you guys. Back here. I’m feeling kind of dizzy. OK, fine — you gals keep an eye out for dry land. I’ll just be right here, resting and floofing out my hair while no one looks at me.”
* * *
You can only hope to be among good friends when it happens. “Oh, Veronique, did you stumble backwards again? Here, you rest on Natasha’s knees and I’ll take your purse and go get you a Diet Coke.”
* * *
If you’re lucky, you’ll land right on your friend’s tropically-clad crotch. “Hey, Marguerite, take my purse, will you? This outfit has knocked me flat out. I think I need a Diet Coke.”
* * *
If you’re unlucky, well… you end up like these girls. “But Lady Dracula, this shoe-shine thing hurts my neck, and Delphine doesn’t look too comfortable either. Why won’t you take my purse and go get me a Diet Coke?”
* * *
In the end, it can feel downright hopeless. “DAMMIT, Renee, don’t just stand there all slumpy and morose. Can’t you see my legs have frozen this way? I gave you my little red purse — now go GET ME A FREAKING DIET COKE. Renee? Renee?”
So ladies, the lesson from the fashion industry is this: Always look good. But not too good. Or you’ll end up paralyzed and helpless.
* * *
PS: Hey gang. A reader (Amy from Kid-Free Living - who’s pretty damn funny herself) nominated the Blink for a Top 25 Humor Blogs listing. I think what you do is follow this link, then scroll waaaay down to the listing for I Miss You When I Blink and click “like” on it to vote. Y’all know I feel kind of weird asking for votes, so don’t fret if you don’t have time; but if you like clicking things, feel free. And THANK YOU, Amy! That was awfully kind.
Here it is: Skinny Scoop Top 25 Humor Blogs
Don’t Buy Heart-Shaped Crap: Make a Mixtape
February 4, 2013 § 39 Comments
The Valentine-fuss this time of year can be a bit of a pukestorm. Personally, I find it all a little silly, but maybe that’s because I have kids, so the whole thing just reminds me of torturously supervising the handwriting on Barbie / Batman Valentine cards and finding the dust of shattered candy hearts in the bottoms of bookbags, I don’t know.
That said, even if you’re not into the Valentine thing, your beloved might be, and you may be on the hook for a gift of some sort. STOP. Do not pick up the teddy bear dressed in a Cupid diaper. Do not touch the heart-shaped card. (Barf.) Do not wrap up a gift in a box at all. I say, go old-school. Reach back to the days of the mixtape, and let the music do the work for you. Here are a few ideas to get you started.
Can’t-Go-Wrong Songs
The Luckiest – Ben Folds Let’s start out mellow. This is for that person who makes you think, “How did I end up with this good fortune? Are you real? Am I dreaming? And if I am dreaming, can you make doughnuts rain down from the ceiling? Because that’s about the only thing that could make this any better.” Good work, Ben Folds.
Fire and Dynamite – Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors Are you kidding me? Is there a more romantic, more beautifully nerdy, more perfect compliment than, “You are a novel in a sea of magazines”? I mean, wha-? It’s good that this phrase wasn’t around when I was a single woman. It would have gotten me in quite a bit of trouble – because there is no end to the list of depravities I would commit if someone said that to me. And then probably word would get out that all it took was that one phrase, and then dudes would walk up to me in bars all the time and say it, and then I’d just be a big ol’ whore. So thanks, Drew Holcomb and your neighbors, for not writing this song until I was safely off the market.
* * *
Not Just Romance
“I love you, man.” Friend-love. It counts.
The Ring – Sarah Harmer This is gratitude love. It could be romantic love, but it could also be for a friend or mentor or something: “And I got up in the ring, because I had you in my corner.” Fun fact – I went to see Sarah Harmer play live PURELY to hear this song. The entire show was nothing but requests. I screamed my little heart out – “the ring! the ring!” – and even got my husband in on the yelling – “THE RING! THE RING!” – but she never played it. Thanks for dashing my hopes, Sarah Harmer. Don’t come crying to me when you have a special humor request and I don’t grant it. What’s that? You want a guitar joke? Oh, I’m not telling those today, but thanks for stopping by.
You’ve Got The Love – Florence and the Machine Here’s a good multi-purpose love song for any playlist. Not too romantic. This could go out to anybody – your Valentine or your friend or, hell, even your parents or God. Oh shit, I said hell and God in the same sentence. Oops, now it’s shit and hell and God. Dammit. [clamping hands over mouth]
* * *
Slightly Off-Center Love Song
Wait. Is it… go into the light? Or don’t go into the light?
I Will Follow You Into The Dark – Cadillac Sky Dark is for sure. This one’s about death. But somehow it’s still really sweet and uplifting. It’s about not being lonely. It’s like that pact they’re always making in the rom-coms – like, if you’re not married by 40, and I’m not married by 40, we’ll marry each other! And then wacky hijinks ensue. Except this one’s more like, “If you’re all alone when you die, and I’m all alone when I die, my soul will follow your soul into the abyss, ‘k?” Everyone knows the Death Cab For Cutie version, but I also really like this one by Cadillac Sky.
* * *
The Cheesiest
Skip this section if you are lactose-intolerant. And try to work on being more tolerant.
Your Song – Ellie Goulding Oh, COME ON. Don’t roll your eyes. Elton John made this a classic; Ellie Goulding does a nice cover. Bonus: This song gives you a great line to use anytime you forget some key piece of information about your loved one – such as their favorite cupcake flavor, eye color, or name: “You see, I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue… anyway, the thing is, what I really mean – yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Smooth.
When You Say Nothing At All – Alison Krauss Once, in a music class, my professor started crying when this song played. And because I was a supercool 18-year-old, I got all uncomfortable, like, “OMG, a man is crying. This is, like, so weird.” But that’s not the point. The point is: If you really want to mush it up, this is the mushiest thing on wheels. It’s for that person whom you can just look at, and they look back, and you’re like, “I know you know that I know that you know that I know that you know that I know what you’re thinking and you know what I’m thinking, so yeah.”
* * *
Deep Thoughts
Will there ever come a day when I can use the words “deep” and “thoughts” in a sentence and not think of this? Probably not.
Stubborn Love – Lumineers This one gets a spot on the list for this statement: “It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all. The opposite of love is indifference.” Hmm. Very philosophical, Lumineers. I think I agree with you fellows, but I’m not sure. We’ll debate it later.
February Seven – The Avett Brothers I’m not even positive I get what’s happening in this song, but there’s something going on here: “I went on the search for something true. I was almost there when I found you.” PS: Scott Avett, I love you. Call me.
Heart’s Content – Brandi Carlile This wasn’t the first song that grabbed me on the Bear Creek CD, but it’s got a hold of me now. “Here’s to you and me, and in between.”
Hold On To What You Believe – Mumford & Sons OK, those of you old enough to remember the days of actual mixtapes (I mean, obviously *I’m* not old enough to remember something so ancient, but you know… I’ve heard legends), remember how cool it was when someone would throw in a “bootleg” track? It was always some song they got from their friend’s older brother’s college roommate, who recorded it at a concert. Here’s the bootleg for this playlist, one of Mumford & Sons’ many love songs – a complex one – that’s not on either of their CDs.
* * *
Let’s Get It On
Let’s play a game: First one who can say “let’s get it on” with a straight face wins.
Lover Tonight – Will Hoge Will Hoge could growl the list of ingredients on the back of a package of fruit roll-ups, and it would still sound like a love song to me. The VOICE. Man. Oh, true story: The last time I went to hear Will play, it was in a teeny-tiny bar, and when he got to this song everyone went quiet EXCEPT the 7-foot-tall douchebag mofo standing directly in front of me, who turned around and started talking really loudly to his friend for the WHOLE SONG. And that is the story of how I almost killed a man with my bare hands but didn’t.
Dance Me To The End of Love – The Civil Wars This remake – which beats the stew out of the original, incidentally – is for after dinner. Slow dance. Spill a little wine. “Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long.” Dance me, indeed. If you’re still dancing by the time this song ends, you’re doing it wrong.
Wait. What were we talking about? Oh, music. Right. So anyway…
* * *
Shiny, Happy Love
Actually, I think it would be hilarious to make someone a playlist that’s all really dark, minor-key pieces from murder movie soundtracks and just hand it over with a totally normal expression.
Simple Song – The Shins Can’t beat this image: “My life in an upturned boat / Marooned on a cliff / You brought me a great big flood / And you gave me a lift”
Scissor Runner – Jenny and Johnny Let’s end on a perky note.
* * *
OR…
Because songs about hating people are funny, too.
If all those songs made you physically sick, it’s cool. No judgment here. In fact, this one’s just for you. We’ll all raise our glasses and sing it with you, too — here goes:
I Hate Everyone – Get Set Go
Kardashians: Kard Kopiers?
December 18, 2012 § 23 Comments
Dammit, not again. Every year, these people pull this. The Kardashians copy my Christmas card.
I don’t know how they’re doing it; but they’re sneaking ideas straight out of my brain before I even have a chance to act on them.
Here’s a glimpse at their card, as reported by Go Fug Yourself:
Now. Let me just tell you what was going through my mind when *I* cooked up the idea for *our* family card.
I was like, “So, here’s the plan: Everyone wear white, because it’s virginal, and Christmas is a time for miracles. Nobody wear socks. Everyone hold a glass of champagne, even the babies. Nah, scratch that – not the babies, they always waste the champagne. In the back, we’ll have a DJ, so it looks like we’re having a party, symbolizing that every day is a celebration in the metaphorical club known as life. As a prop, we’ll put a white pussycat in a box, suggesting through subtle visual cues our message that sexuality cannot be fully explored until one is willing to open up repressed notions and cross racial barriers. Everyone with a nice big ass stands up; everyone with a medium ass sits down.”
Then LO AND BEHOLD, look who comes out with the SAME. DAMN. THING.
THIEVES, I tell you.
Writers Do It In Parentheses
December 4, 2012 § 35 Comments
I have a bit of a runaway imagination. Sometimes, it tortures me.
For example: I am unable not to think about little phrases I see on signs and T-shirts and bumper stickers, even if I really, really don’t want to think about them. This is never more of a problem than when I end up behind drivers who feel the need to proclaim on the back of their cars that they “do it” in some way involving a pun related to their occupation or hobby.
You know, like this:
Once that image is planted in my head, I can’t get it out. So there I am, stuck at a red light, thinking about a couple of homebrewers gettin’ it on in the garage. And as I’m attempting to get a look at the homebrewers in question (because now I want to see what they look like, although I kind of don’t, but I DO!), a list of questions is forming in my head:
- Is the garage carpeted?
- Do they drink the beer they brew before/during/after doing it? If you have to keep tasting and tasting to get the beer right, you would eventually end up consuming a lot of beer. So I can see how things would get a little sloppy and amorous.
- Is the beer-making area of the garage separate from the doing-it area of the garage? Because if it’s all one same general area, I don’t want any of that beer.
- Is the sticker a way of disclosing to friends and customers that there may, in fact, be other substances in the beer besides just beer? Like, “Warning: We were doing it mere moments before we bottled this stuff.” If so, that’s nasty, but also kind of considerate, in a way. Kind of like the nut allergy alerts on product packaging. Except a different kind of nuts.
My brain is held hostage by stupid musings like this until something else comes along to knock the thought loose. Like this:
I KNEW IT.
* * *
Sometimes, these stickers make me see something in a new light. For instance:
At first I was like, really? Midwives? And then as I got on the highway I thought, well, midwives do spend an unusually large amount of time staring straight into the business end of the doin’-it parts. I guess they have a better understanding of the various ways in which those parts can be arranged. So, OK. I get it. Way to use your work skills in your off-time, midwives.
* * *
Other times, I get the giggles, because I can’t help but picture a very literal interpretation of a sticker. Like this one:
I thought that one over for a while. I decided it goes like this: The guy says, “Ouch! I just got a papercut on my knee. What was that?” And the girl goes, “Oh, that’s my scholarship letter – you can move it out of the way.” And he goes, “No. Let’s DO IT on your scholarship!” And then the music starts.
* * *
I know it sounds entertaining, but it’s actually very distracting, because I can’t turn it off. I’d rather be thinking about the book I read the night before, or composing a song about what I’m making for dinner, or you know, PAYING ATTENTION TO DRIVING.
I don’t want to think about things like these:
I thought, genes? Oh, like… jeans? GROSS, biologists. Try to hold it together, dorks.
(http://www.cafepress.com/mf/16883900/biologists-do-it-in-genes-rectangle_sticker)
I wanted to make fun of this, but you know what? I just felt kind of happy for the chemists, getting a little play.
(http://www.cafepress.com/mf/9539371/chemists-do-it-rectangle_sticker)
Somebody draw the recyclers a bath – they need a night off.
(http://www.cafepress.com/mf/28063725/recyclers_sticker)
I didn’t even get that pun, but I guess that’s because I’m not a quilter. So I’m just assuming quilters enjoy banging by the side of the road, which is *totally* not what I thought about quilters at all. I figured them for indoor types.
(http://www.cafepress.com/mf/16275476/quilters-do-it-in-the-ditch-rectangle_sticker)
Let me tell you something: If there’s one thing that should make you pick your britches up off the floor and run, it’s the appearance of welding equipment.
(http://www.cafepress.com/mf/33860094/rectangle_sticker)
* * *
Anyway. Sometimes I see one and, as is my habit, I find myself wanting to edit it; so then I’m stuck rewriting bumper stickers in my head all afternoon. Take this one:
Glass? Photographers do it with glass? DO WHAT WITH GLASS? And why? And HOW?
You can see why I’d have to rewrite that. I thought about maybe, “Photographers do it with focus.” Or, “Photographers do it in color.” Or, “Photographers do it on film.” But then I wondered, well, do they even use film anymore? It’s all digital now, isn’t it? So I guess they do it… Nevermind. The point is: Some of these could be better.
Speaking of which:
Obviously.
* * *
(All images from Cafepress and Zazzle.)
Pumpkin Pimping: It’s A Thing
October 16, 2012 § 42 Comments
I’m concerned about what’s happening to Halloween.
I’m not talking about the slutting up of Halloween costumes, although I do believe get-ups such as The Sexy Bumblebee, The Sexy Salmon, and The Sexy Bandaid are getting a little old.*
(* Anyone can strap on a set of garters, a bra top, and a frilly apron/wing/fin/tail/stinger/bumper/leaf and call it a costume. I’m not too worried about it, though. I think the trend will die down as the outfits get skimpier. Eventually, there’ll be nothing left, and everyone will just be naked at Halloween; and then we’ll all be so grossed out that the pendulum will swing back the other way, and we’ll be wearing enormous bags every October and going as The Burlap Bumblebee. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.)
No, I have a different concern: Pumpkin Pimping.
Google that term right now. I’ll wait.
See? It’s a thing. I bet you saw the barfing pumpkin, the pumpkin butt, and the scarecrow-with-boobs pumpkin. “Pumpkin pimping” is the term now used to describe these cheeky arrangements, as well as super-artsy carvings like this:
I’m not 100% clear on the term, although I know it’s best not to take it literally. (Who is the pimp? The pumpkin? Or the person doing the carving?) What I do know is this: these fancypants pumpkins have taken the place of the simple jack-o-lantern. When did Halloween become so much work?
Dude, seriously.
Now, I don’t mean to squash anyone’s good time. (Gourd pun.) Maybe it’s not for me, but I understand from the Internet that pumpkin pimping is a special activity that is meaningful to many. One Halloween site describes pumpkin pimping like so:
“Pimping pumpkins is fun. Pimp pumpkins for profit, charity, Halloween contests, fall weddings, craft projects, [etc.].”
Sure. Pimping has long been associated with profit. And if we think about it hard enough, we could probably make the rest of that make sense, too.
Charity? I don’t know. I’m trying to imagine a scenario in which that works. “I’m sorry your house burned down. You probably need clothing and basic foodstuffs. Here, I brought you a pumpkin tricked out to resemble a Cadillac with Elvis inside.” I guess this is just one of those old traditions that didn’t really translate into modern life. Back in the day, pimping for charity probably just meant giving a poor person a free hooker. Life was simpler then.
Contests? Well, that’s a no-brainer. Pimps always win contests. Because pimps are winners.
Fall weddings? Ah, yes. The age-old wedding ritual of pimping. It’s cuter now with the pumpkins than in olden days when a guy just showed up at the reception in a purple fur coat and all the guests gave him money to buy women.
Craft projects? Crafts are nice for kids. I guess. As the article says, “Pimping… gives the kids something do on those rainy and snowy days.” I have to admit, that’s a sweet nod to history and the cold-weather customs of families in days of yore. (“Mother, I’ve finished writing ye olde alphabet with my quill upon ye scroll, and the snow is still coming down outside.” “Very well then, Samuel. You may go sell some whores in yonder market.”)
* * *
Anyway. As the immortal lyrics go, “Pimpin’ ain’t easy.” And it’s true. If you really want to make it on the pumpkin pimpin’ streets, there are special carving kits you must buy, with props and deluxe lighting accessories. Pimping, of any kind, can take a lot of effort and expense and can be dangerous. Plus, you never know how all that work will really pan out.
So if pumpkin pimping is for you, great. But remember, the next time you feel inspired to take on a project like this:
… it could turn out like this:
PS: Happy Halloween! If you need me, I’ll be out back carving one pumpkin into a hedgehog pimp, along with a cadre of mini-pumpkin hedgehog prostitutes. It’s going to be adorable.
6 Tips for Hosting Overnight Guests
August 3, 2012 § 19 Comments
Isn’t it fun having a friend come visit and stay overnight? What a great way to catch up without having to hurry. You can have dinner, hang out, sneak each other’s phones and hack one another’s Facebook accounts, stay up late, then get up and have a breakfast party in the morning. Good times.
Some people find it stressful preparing for spend-the-night company. No, no, no. Having a job interview on a roller coaster is stressful. Being bitten by a spider that’s stuck in your pants at the exact moment you meet your new mother-in-law is stressful. Being stopped by a cop for a broken tail light when you’re a convict on the lam is stressful. Having friends over is easy. Here are a few trusty tips, as practiced at my house this week when a friend stopped through town:
* * *
1. For friends coming in from afar, send easy-to-follow directions, including landmarks. For example, I include these details to help friends get to my neighborhood:
“…Exit to the left. Pass ‘ANY CLUB’. Note: it is not just any club. It’s Tiffany’s Club, but half the neon is burned out. Also, everyone inside is naked; so just know that if you decide to stop and go in. Next, pass the motel with the people trading money in the parking lot. Don’t slow down, that’s not a book swap. Turn left again.”
Excerpt from actual text. Details make it easier for a visitor to recognize your home.
* * *
2. Get the house ready. Consider putting out some flowers.
As you can see, I considered putting out some flowers.
* * *
3. Arrange a customized stack of reading material at each guest’s bedside. I like to assemble a mix of fiction and nonfiction, including some poems or essays, based on the person’s interests or what I think their interests should be. If you think they have an addiction, a self-help book is a great way to let them know. Everyone loves this kind of helpfulness.
In this case, it was a challenge, because my friend reads as much (if not more)
than I do, and we have a lot of the same favorites. So these are kind of
random choices. Btw, if you don’t have Sloane Crosley’s humor essays,
pick them up. Funny.
* * *
4. Place a welcome card on the guest’s pillow.
Sometimes, the card is so good, I can’t even stand to write in it.
I’m dying to have a pregnant houseguest ever since finding a congrats card
that reads, “Way to go, you little slut.”
* * *
5. Find out what your guests drink, and stock up on it.
Post-party recycling. Why all the club soda, you ask?
Because we were throwing down white wine spritzers like
a couple of 75-year-old BALLERS.
* * *
6. Go all out and cook a fancy breakfast. Don’t be the host with the toast. Although I’m not much of a baker, having morning guests calls for extraordinary measures. I picked this Martha Stewart recipe, because apparently, these muffins aren’t restricted to certain days of the week like other muffins. Versatile!
I may have disregarded that part about “jumbo” muffin pans.
But how much difference could it really make?
A good bit of difference, actually.
So basically, a trip to my house is like a luxury vacation. As long as you’re cool with our ancient plumbing (“old world charm”) and curious little kids who may or may not dig through your suitcase while you’re asleep. Come visit!
Earlobe Daydreams
April 10, 2012 § 5 Comments
So much imagining can happen so fast, and so quickly it can all come to seem possible.
When I spied the earrings at an art show, I picked them up and held them in my hand. The little hammered gold circles were understated and casual and just perfect. They were as light as air. Lighter than air. They were like negative air.
I thought, these are so small and lightweight, I could probably even wear them on the beach… Wouldn’t that be fun? Just the tiny little accent the perfect beach outfit needs. You know, in the J. Crew catalog, how they’re always wearing adorably rumpled gingham shirts half-buttoned-up over their bikini tops with whimsically mismatched shorts and espadrilles that lace halfway up their calves yet miraculously never make their legs look like tenderloins wrapped in twine? THAT is what these earrings would be great with. Oh! And a colorful scarf wrapped around my hair, the overall effect of which would be not at all like Aunt Jemima or Rosie the Riveter.
The whole thing would be so fabulous… we could find a batch of those beach chairs that are always perfectly positioned with the sunset behind them, so that no one is squinting, and the tide is just exactly right – like, lapping at our toes, but not making our chairs sink unevenly in the wet sand so that we have to keep getting up and scooting back again and again and again.
The sun would catch the gold and make the earrings sparkle just a bit, almost as sparkly as the twinkling in my children’s eyes as they glance back at me from where they’re wading in the tide pools, catching minnows and never clocking one another upside the head with buckets or peeing on sand crabs.
Ooh! Actually, this is the PERFECT scenario for one of those casual social get-togethers, like when you run into friends and realize that they’re staying just three houses down the beach, and they are totally happy to see you, and you’re happy to see them, and neither couple is like, “Are you f’ing KIDDING ME? We drive six hours to get out of town, and THESE ASSHOLES are still RIGHT HERE?”
I’d say, “How about dinner?” and they would accept the invitation immediately because we are so much fun to hang out with and my cooking is so legendary for both its tastiness and the ease with which I do it. The wife would not stare daggers at her husband like, “I HATE THESE PEOPLE,” while he jovially accepts the invitation without realizing all the hell he’s going to pay later. I would do one of those lowcountry boil things, where I just throw all sorts of stuff in a pot and then wave a magical wand over it and then dump it all out across our weathered wood picnic table out behind the beach house. Everyone will gather around: “YOU MADE THIS?” Yes. Yes, I did. But it was no trouble.
And I would tell stories, and everyone would be mesmerized, and it would be a non-sports season, so no one would be glancing at their laps to check scores on their iPhones. And then I would say, guess what! I have a great new compound curse word to tell you! And everyone would be like, “WHAT IS IT?” And I would make them wait a few seconds before announcing…
Assbasket.
And they’d roar their approval and immediately start using it in sentences (“Hey, don’t be such an assbasket. Pass the bottle opener!” and “Of course you played poorly at The Masters, Tiger Woods. That’s karma, assbasket.”) No one would point out that obviously someone else has previously made up this word and that’s why it’s already in the Urban Dictionary. They would let me enjoy the bliss of believing in myself.
As the stars begin to come out and the children huddle around the bonfire making s’mores, the adults will be getting along swimmingly and everyone will have a light buzz, just enough to make all the happiness happier, not so much that the men are slurring their words and the women are spontaneously crying and have mascara halfway down their cheeks. Because everyone is all joyous, the other couple definitely won’t start snarling at each other and making us feel uncomfortable such that I start doing that nonsensical babbling thing I do just to fill the awkward silences – where the next thing you know I’m blabbing absurdly personal information about my uterus and my husband is covering his face and shaking his head, and then the other husband stands up and we realize he’s blind drunk, and he trips and falls into the bonfire and yells, “Sheezusmaryandjoseph, kidswegottagohome, yourmothersawhore.”
None of that would happen, because I’d be wearing the earrings. So light. So twinkly. So full of sunshiny optimism.
I wear them almost every single day.
This is exactly what the weather always looks like at my imaginary beach.
Except maybe the clouds spell out my initials.
