The Christmas before last, my parents asked me what I would like for Christmas, and I said I wanted some money towards a new winter coat. My dad reacted with fatherly concern for my financial state and my health, and if I was in need of a proper coat, he would get me one right now. So I explained that although I was warm enough in my perfectly serviceable black wool belted peacoat, I wanted a new and different black wool sashed peacoat.
On Christmas, I modeled it for my mom and Aunt April, who both enthused over the buttons and agreed that a sash instead of a belt really did make all the difference. It’s gorgeous! And my dad agreed that, yup, that’s a coat.
***
One of the things I really enjoy in Chapel Hill is going to yoga and to a dance class. That’s about the only way I actually exercise, if I’m not going to a scheduled class, I’ll wait to finish just this one thing first, and then realize that, hey, it’s been five weeks since I’ve done any exercise.
It’s a little frustrating to be struggling with poses that I could do just fine before my stupid back was hurt, but mostly it’s good to be able to stretch again.
The other day, I ran into a woman I thought I might recognize from yoga. It’s sometimes hard to recognize yoga classmates when they are wearing proper clothes, so I just nodded a little vaguely, and she did too.
“You’re in Name$’s class, right?” She said. “You’re the girl who moved here from New York?”
Oh man. How could she tell? Did I look too impatient because it was 6:04 and we were still sitting on our mats, chatting about the weather with no sign of beginning the 6 o’clock yoga class? WHICH IS WHY WE ARE ALL HERE, RIGHT?!?! SO CAN WE START NOW?!? Did I treat the changing room like a no-eye-contact subway zone, even though the changing room is still in the south and the rules about exchanging three pleasantries with each person encountered still apply? Oh no!
“Um. Yes?” I said. “How did you know?”
“Your coat.”
New Yorkers are punctual? Is that why Eric threatens to ship me down there and won’t let me return until I mend my ways?
“And my dad agreed that, yup, that’s a coat.”
Years ago, I asked my dad for a new ski jacket for Christmas, seeing as the one I had was a relic from middle school and I borrowed my sister’s. Green or blue, please. He found a yellow one. (It is a very pretty yellow, but, ya know, the only thing to recommend a yellow ski coat is that no one else on the mountain has one.)
The takeaway shouldn’t be “New Yorkers are punctual” as much as “all activities in the South involve chitchat before and after”, which is North Carolinian Politeness Torture for folks who have things to do and don’t enjoy wasting time. (New Yorkers)
Yeah, my teenage years are filled with instances of me asking for a special pieceof clothing and my mom getting a semi-similar one that was on sale.
I remember the advantage to using self-checkout lines – the scanner didn’t talk to the person in front of you for ten minutes.
Can’t say my teenage years were similar – I had no fashion sense. 🙂 My dad always tried to find machine-washable, professional clothing for me; you don’t find many dads that get excited about making sure their daughters don’t have to dry-clean their silk blend turtlenecks and twinsets.
Back to coats – one of my friends was cleaning out her closet and gave me her (second-hand to her, vintage) fancy coat. Warm! Lovely! Classic! Poor Eric couldn’t figure out how his vegetarian girlfriend could wear mink. 😉 He was okay with “It’s not like I’m eating the leather seats on my car”, but the mink was too much.
A google image search later: Yes, the sashed peacoat looks much more New Yorkery than the standard peacoat.
See? WORTHWHILE!
haha!
It IS a very nice coat.