Monday, November 8, 2010

A Eulogy, An Ode, and Fashion Week in Scottsdale

What a weekend! Hope yours was fantastic! Mine was a blast!! Friday, Tab and I hooked up at Fashion Square. We did the girl day, starting with Lunch at Nordstrom Cafe. Singed the tastebuds off my tongue on their incredible tomato soup, lol. From there, we hit Godiva (of course), then on to our mission. We had a specific outfit for Tab to search for. And search we did. Limited turned out to be our big hit, finding not only great separates for Tab, but also The Perfect Pair of Pants!

Now, I must pause for a moment, to eulogize an old, devoted friend... The Perfect Pair of Jeans.
We met more than two years ago, on a shopping excursion with Tabitha. We each loaded up with several pair of jeans and encamped in the dressing rooms. Pair after pair we tried and discarded, frustration becoming palpable. And then... dual audible gasps...  "Look!" we cried simultaneously, and we both flew out our dressing room doors. It was love at first fit. The just-right amount of stretch, the complete rear-end support and definition... from form to function, color to style, these were The Ones. Tabitha and I each took a pair home, reveling in our shopping coup.  Over the years, The Perfect Pair of Jeans never let me down. Whether I was up 5 lbs, or down, they fit... perfectly... always. They were a lovely shade of medium blue, and were ideal for any outfit. Together we tromped through grocery stores, perused farmer's markets, stalked malls. We enjoyed backyard bbq's, and neighborhood bars. We did everything together, The Perfect Pair and I. Time has leached their color, leaving them sadly pale. Wear has worn their seams, sapping their strength. Still I wore them. Until Friday. With great depth of grief, I must lay them to rest. The Perfect Pair of Jeans, you had a full life, you gave me great joy (and a great rear-view). I will miss you. You will not be forgotten.

But you have been replaced.

An Ode to the Perfect Pair of Pants... Perfect pants, how I love thee.
Your embrace lifts my derrière,
and conceals my thighs.
Your length does not make me a midget look
Nor prepared
to wade through a crick.
Your cut, your color,
your stretchy pin-stripes,
You are perfection
at a reasonable price.
You are my favorite,
my most comfortable pair.
I adore you, I honor you,
please, never tear!
O Blessed,
O Perfect Pair of Pants.

So yes, as you have read, I did find the perfect pair of pants... though not jeans, they are (finally) an addition to my work wardrobe. Yay! And yes, Tabitha and I both bought a pair... then so did Erin! LOL! Great minds :-) 

So... the next day, we had a minor fashion crisis, and made a mad dash to Paradise Valley Mall, where we almost immediately solved said crisis, but, had to call back over to the Fashion Square store to ensure stock. We jumped in our cars and drove straight there [insert funny cartoon music here], then went directly to the appropriate department, where our item was waiting for us... as if it knew we were coming to take it home. Awwww.  :-) Having finished our task, and now having time on our hands, we decided to check out the goings-on in the mall. Did I mention that this was Fashion Week here? :-) You just wouldn't believe the things we saw! People are odd. I'm tellin ya, people are really, really odd.

As we browsed in one store, Jen Lancaster decided to communicate with me, brain to brain. Her sarcastabitch fashionista pointed out the woman browsing coats... She was nicely put together, had accessorized in a simple yet lovely manner, but... her skirt... it had a back slit, but she had neglected, upon purchase, to snip the tack holding it closed. Argh, Jen Lancaster! Get out of my head, You're MEAN! Suddenly I felt like I should also kick a puppy!

Next we headed out into Fashion Week, where fashion-snark could freely flow. And it did. My inner-Jen had free reign as we diss'd models, outfits, passers-by, and one very memorable woman who I think was channeling her inner-Betsey Johnson. At least I hope so. Because if not, I am simply stumped. And a little awed.

Anyway... flying on sugar (did I mention Tabitha twisted my arm and marched me at gunpoint into the Sweet Factory? Cuz she did. Then she force fed me gummy bears and sour slices. Really!! Why don't you believe me? Geeze!), we sat and watched the fashion show for Michael Stars... I really think one of the models had dreams of murder for whoever put her in that outfit. If not, she should. Tab and I freely critiqued the models' walks, styles, and overall existence... though we refrained from throwing gummy bears. Barely. :-)

At one point Tab leaned over and asked, "Does this mean we're the white-trash-fashion critics?" 
"No," I answered.
"Why not?" 
"Because I gave up that title when I moved out of the single-wide that had a bathtub with a transmission in it in my front yard." [true story. 100% truth.]
"Huh. Good point."
Ah, Fashion Week. Can't wait till next year!

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