Reality Bites

Every now and then, I venture out into the real world, the world beyond Alabama, and I think, "I can do this" I am just as chic and hip and cool as anyone in any other state, right?

I went through this crisis when we went to New York and so I took a last minute shopping spree and bought something that seemed fashionable, even in the Sex in the City world of Manhattan. In the end, I was not completely embarrassed by my less-than cosmopolitan living situation, and actually did okay, appearance-wise, in NYC. There were always people who either cared less, or were less self-conscious, or less able to make a last minute department store binge, and therefore waddled around the island in sneakers, rear-wedgie shorts, and ill-fitting tanktops.
Now, here in Southern California, I am again reminded of my quest not to appear Alabamian. I remember once, when I was about 10, relatives visited us from the South. They wore these sweat suits and sneakers that were already SO OVER here, and I thought that everywhere else was just cosmically uncool. I carry with me this same vow now, and I packed as nicely as I could for our trip out here. But.

M and I went to the mall for a little time alone. I know, the mall, how lame. But.

There are all kinds of stores in the mall here that aren't in the glorious edifice known as the Bel Air mall in Mobile: Banana Republic, Nordstrom, Saks, Macy's, Apple Store, Microsoft store (Microsoft has a store?!), Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn, and the list goes on and on. So, I wanted to go check this out. We wandered through the stores, idly daydreaming about my alter-ego's fantastic wardrobe.

Nordstrom is having a sale. And when Nordstrom has a sale, it's like a SALE. Like manna from heaven. Like alchemy--ordinary cotton into extraordinary gold. The smell of Nordstrom, this ultra fresh, kinda chemical-y, ultra rich smell is unlike any other in the known universe. I LOVE IT.

M and I are casually walking around the department store. I massage fabrics far too expensive for me to buy, and other fabrics closer to my price range, but really unnecessary to my life, and I covet it all. Because every one needs metallic purple patent leather pumps, right?

Back off my metallic purple patent leather pumps.

As I was fondling a pair of Vera Wang ballet flats, I made a tactical error. I tried to scratch an itch on my left ankle with the top of my right. But, in my vast effort to wear cool shoes in California, my GIANT cork heeled, (but oh-so-fashionable) shoes, my left foot wobbled. And I started to fall.

But, of course when you lose balance, it always happens in slow motion. As I fell, I briefly thought that I could grasp the table upon which the Vera Wang ballet flats rested, and as that fell out of reach, I thought for sure I could brace myself into a solid crouch, and then as that failed, I was convinced that a low squat would surely break the momentum, and as low squat clearly failed, I resigned myself to my fate:

COMPLETELY supine, glasses and purse contents strewn across the shoe department. M, discreetly, trying to pull me up. Left butt cheek slightly bruised. Ego mutilated beyond rescue.

We left, deciding to return to our shopping after the witnesses finished shopping.

What's worse, is that we took refuge at PF Chang's. We pigged out, and adding insult to my bruised butt cheek injury, I busted the button on my pants.

*Shrug*

Clearly, it is time for my vacation to end and for me to skulk back to Alabama. It is time to leave the domain of the hip and the chic and return to the domain of the last-to-pick-up-trends and the unfashionable. I clearly don't belong here.