Picture this:

After a long hard week, I sink into a hot bath to soak my stresses away.

bubble-bathvintage

I casually reach my hand over the edge of the tub and find, there beside the soap, a menacing spider.

Startled, I somehow knock the monster into the tub.

So NOW the hideous icky thing is desperately doing the butterfly stroke toward my naked, defenseless body.

I leap up and shake myself brave. In desperate adrenaline driven self defense I take hold of the wash cloth and flick the soggy, hairy, bent-legged angry arachnid out of my bathwater and onto the tile floor.

It lands with a little splat, then drags its wet carcass around the tub and, I assume, down the vent.

All of this happens with my husband in the living room downstairs deafened by the TV and completely oblivious to my immanent peril.

Had the eight legged assassin killed me and greedily drained my vital fluids, he would not have known until he came to bed and found my desiccated corpse floating in the tub.

House-Spider
We need to install a panic button.

Not a good week to be princess

This week has been almost unbearable, and I don’t mean to brag, but it has also been a testament to my inner strength.

First of all, my husband is away so I am all alone looking after the boys, the dog and the house. I had no idea how many times that dog went out to pee on an average day. She might have kidney problems.

On Sunday I almost thought I’d lost one of the boys. That was a couple seconds of anxiety. One time he gets out of bed before 2 in the afternoon – how am I supposed to know?

Monday my son decided we should be heroes and signed us up to donate blood. We took the train all the way to Canadian Blood Services then waited our turn, only to have my blood rejected. My iron levels are not sufficient to allow me to donate blood. I had to sit and wait, reading a 2 year old Chatelaine magazine while my son gave blood, then wait and watch him get a cookie and juice.

Then Tuesday was looking like a busy but doable day until I got dressed. I had to change 7 times because I had an important meeting and couldn’t find a outfit that said ‘intelligent but easy going’. It was harrowing and made me despair for the state of my wardrobe.

When I finally did get dressed and to my desk I sat down, crossed my legs and the zipper on my boots ripped a huge hole in my new tights. I had to walk two blocks to my morning meeting with calves bare to the autumn wind.

Wednesday we got home and the dog, apparently as retribution for leaving her alone, had gotten into the garbage and scattered carrot peelings all over the kitchen in her desperate search for a precious butter wrapper.

(what?)                                     (oh, that)                               (my bad)

who me tessa     my bad tessa     ha ha tessa

Thursday morning I turned on the shower and it just never got warm – the hot water heater pilot light had gone out some time during the night. A cold shower does not set a good tone to a day.

Today is Friday and I am sitting on pins and needles waiting to see what fate befalls me next.

Why, why maybe wifi

You know, I don’t want to sound like a demanding princess, but something has to be done by someone about the quality of my household wireless services.

Last night I thought, for a change of pace, perhaps I should pack up my laptop and sit in the library while I do my online shopping.

You see, usually I sit in the south wing of the house, in the art room. But the art room has very large windows and I get a  bit of glare on my laptop’s screen that interferes with my ability to peruse the dress selection at Saks Fifth Avenue’s online site.

On the north end of the house, in the library, there is only the one set of patio doors and the patio is superbly shaded. There would be no glare and (I thought) all my problems would be solved.

So I moved, and I sat and sat waiting for the image of a Jill Stuart dress to appear. But it never happened and I was left sitting in a lonely library recliner with unrequited dress dreams, credit card in hand without a dress to pay for.  No internet. No Jill Stuart. By the time I packed up and moved all the way back to the other side of the house the dress had sold out.

saks sold out

Apparently the north end of the house is still a dead zone. The boys tell me that is because the router is in the south wing of the house in the media room, and that since there are 4 walls and a floor between that media room router and my library, the wireless does not have the strength to retrieve images.

I had the cable fellows out to fix this months ago, and they just asked me a whole bunch of confusing questions (what kind of modem do you have, where is the router, how do you turn this on?).

Now what was I supposed to do? Just trust Saks and buy any old size two dress I could find? How am I supposed to keep my wardrobe up to date?

This is a serious problem.

If I didn’t work walking distance from Holt Renfrew this could be a real impediment to maintaining my social status.

It’s not a metaphoric closet.

Last week, for reasons I would rather not get into, my husband and I had a discussion about house insurance.

It turns out he is clueless. Loveable, but clueless.

Our house contents are insured for $75,000. When he dropped that bombshell, and I asked him if we had a special rider for my clothes, he looked at me with complete incomprehension. When he recovered capacity for his speech he became yet more incomprehensible, and said “What, you have about 25 dresses right, at about $150 each? 10 pairs of shoes? How much are shoes?”

Tory Burch. Chloe. Helmut Lang. Kate Spade. Isabel Marant. Proenza Schouler.

                    TORI BURCHCHLOEHELMUTKATE SPADEMARANTPROENZA

These timeless fashion classics live in my closet.

This, my friend, is Burberry. BURBERRY. It was not $150:

BURBERRY

This, this is Vivienne Westwood. Sure, only her red line, but still, not $150:

WESTWOOD

You see, I am cursed by the fact that I have remained the same dress size for 20 years. And generally, classic fashion does not go out of style. Generally, classic fashion remains in my closet. I am helplessly timeless.

darcy on stairs

If we have a fire I guess the boys are all going to be naked for a while.

First World Mental Vacation

Oh, I know what you’re going to say. Yes, I have been away. But let me assure you, that isn’t because my first problems have diminished. Not at all, if anything they have compounded.

Take for instance, problem #1: My job was not allowing me to reach my full potential.

im too pretty

8:30 to 4:30 everyday, in a cubicle, at a computer, managing paperwork and filling in meaningless forms. Running in circles for approvals. It was like living Vaclav Havel’s The Memorandum, but without all the hilarity. So, I quit. I went back to school.

lawyer

After the heady impulsive rebellion driven rush, the reality of the situation kicked in.  I had to write an eloquent resignation and rush around to shop for schools supplies to accommodate the demands of student life.

  • I had to get a new laptop
  • A nice laptop case.
  • I had to get a new router so I had reliable wifi in every corner of the house (it was notoriously spotty in the northeast wing).
  • I needed a new chair for my ‘office’.
  • I needed a reading lamp.
  • I needed more comfy leggings and warm sweaters to keep off the chill as I studied.

Shopping is a lot of work.

ShoppingBags

And then came problem #2: School has not improved in the past two decades. It was like a Jr High nightmare flashback. With god as my witness, I swore I would never parse again.

But I parsed, and bit my lip with every missing oxford comma.

I settled in to spending 3 hours a week in class and several more hours a day in yoga pants sitting at my laptop in my office working through my course readings. The only breaks I got were when I got up, basically whenever I wanted, to make myself a latte or have a hot bath. It was rigorous and exhausting.

That was just to start, my entire second post secondary journey was fraught with peril. But, that’s for another day. Right now, I am late for my manicure.

Why do the righteous suffer?

I hope I can write this blog mashing the keyboard like a leper. My left hand is a stub – wrapped in a wet towel and I SWEAR there is STEAM coming off it.

better arm wrap

How did this happen, you ask?

Well, we entertained last night. We threw a soirée. You know how much I love to give of myself. I slaved all day to make sure the maid got the house clean enough and the caterer got the food right. Honestly. I barely had time for my yoga. Or my manicure. Or my hair appointment.

So, this morning I got up and thought – I deserve some ME time.

I ran a hot bath. Then turned on the TV on the wall at the foot of the tub and put in an episode of Pretty Little Liars.

pretty-little-liars-books

It was lovely, I have to admit. However, all good things come to an end, and I had to get out in the end. So I reached over casually to get my towel, which had slipped from its rung. Rather than find a warm fluffy towel I found metal – hot metal. I scalded my hand on the heated towel rack.

What a way to end my gift to me!

Of course I should be used to the fact that good things don’t last, for me. But I can’t help but wonder in what way I have offended god.

I feel like Job.

JOB

TGIF and a triple fat latte

I am sitting at my desk looking back on a day ruined by inattention to detail, and suddenly I think – why am I suffering alone? I have my blog and the people that love me!
I am so sorry to have neglected you all. I hope you can forgive me.
Why was my day ruined. Let me tell you…
This morning the girl at Starbucks made me a vente non-fat latte when I ASKED for a vente no-foam latte. Do I LOOK like I need to cut back on fat? Can you see through my Lulu’s? No. No you cannot, my little Lulu’s hardly have to stretch at all. NO, I do not need to cut back on my fat. I NEED MY FAT. I want my fat back.
Waaa.
I don’t even know how that happened, we go there EVERY morning. They should really recognize me and know my order by now.
OH, and one other thing. They asked for a name for the cup and look what they came up with. Really? When my darling said ‘Berni’, this is what they thought he was saying?
burney
It’s the little details in life that count. Fat and Berni. They go together and make my mornings bearable.
Thank God it is Friday. If this were Monday it could have ruined my entire week.

Those Old Familiar Move-in Blues

We’re in!
Just finished unloading.

I needed THREE Venti cafe lattes just to get me through the exhausting job of supervising the movers!

I have already hung my five carefully selected outfits in the walk-in closet. I chose carefully, it would be dreadful to let down my co-workers and clients by coming in to work not quite put together.
The closet looks cavernous now but I am still a bit afraid that I will have some difficulty making the space work for me. After all I have to share this:

walk in closet

with B.
And well, I have already accepted my shoe closet limitations.

Imelda's shoes !!

I expect I have good deal more supervising to do before I feel happy, but for tonight I will allow myself the luxury of a little ‘me time’ – a glass of pinot noir and a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough plate of tasty organic roasted pumpkin seeds.

binge-eating-disorder

But never fear, I shall endeavor to keep up my good work here, no matter how hard it is to find time aside from my duties as homemaker.

dressing-for-dinner

Size 2 Sufferage

Well, honest to goodness, 2013 had better be good to me because the start of it was very frustrating.

I firmly believe that it is important to start a new year right. I know there are people who greet a new year the same way they left the old one but, is that constructive? Can you imagine the karmic repercussions?

So NATURALLY I had to be very careful about how I prepared for my New Year soirée. I flipped through my closet but decided that I couldn’t possibly turn over a new leaf in an old dress. One would THINK that 48 hours is ample time to find a fitting dress. I suppose that may be the case for everyone but me. Always everyone but me. **SIGH**

shopping failure

What a shopping nightmare.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a size 2 dress?

I’m sorry that I am small, I’m sorry that I don’t like ice cream, I’m sorry that my carb cravings are benign, I’m sorry that my metabolism is active, but I don’t think that the systematic discrimination against petite women is right.  How can a store possibly justify only having ordered in size 6-12 dresses? Just because those of us outside those ‘externally imposed size boundaries’ are a minority doesn’t justify this fashion discrimination!

I get angry all over again just thinking about it.

The 11th hour is my finest hour however, and Holt Refrew and Donna Karan saved the day.

In 2013 I pray that the hurdles and barriers I experience due to my petiteness become less onerous, and as my New Year’s resolution I pledge that I will hold fast and work tirelessly for myself and other petite women everywhere.


 clothes for women of size 2

What Doesn’t Kill you…

I am slowly coming to grips with some of the basics I will have to forgo living in the new house – temporarily all, thankfully, because otherwise I would have to reconsider the move entirely.

I now sit  on the floor packing my books, tearily saying ‘hasta luego, pablo’ ‘До скорой встречи, Федор’, ‘mi mancherai, Niccolò’, ‘attends-moi, Honoré’…sigh. B. assures me a library will be our first priority as soon as we are settled. Goodness I do hope we settle soon or I may end up with separation anxiety.

good books

I will have to say farewell to my Sunday mornings at Italian Centre Shop for a latte and a pastry. Where will I get seasonal fresh figs or truly good cannolis? This sad situation will only need be endured a few months, however, as a third Italian Centre Shop is opening in February just ten blocks north of the new house. I am certain I can survive, and if I cannot, I will send B to fetch cannolis for me.

cannolis

The realtor allowed us back in one more time, pre-move, and we measured. The walk-in closet will suffice for my dresses, sweaters, pants and skirts, but will not hold my shoes. There is broom closet down the hall from the master bedroom that can be fitted with shelves and that may do, but I don’t know what I will do with my boots. I will have to be creative and find a place for them.

hoemless shoes

Still, though, I think the move is good. A few sacrifices aside. After all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

AND, I know, if i get a little melancholy in my book-cannoli-shoeless home I can just come here where you all understand and love me.