19 March 2007

Nothing like thigh-highs to make Monday less Monday-like

A friend of mine, we'll call her "G," was having a pretty bad start to her day this morning.

Her bangs wouldn't cooperate and had to be headbanded back - which of course, changed her entire permutation of outfit choices and caused her to leave the apartment later than she'd planned - she found a chip, albeit a tiny one, in her just-pedicured-last-Thursday Chanel 'Black Ceramic' polish, and most frustrating of all, she had to eat the dust-like dregs of her last box of Special K Red Berry with an insufficient amount of still-smelled-okay-but-just-barely skim milk.

"There has to be something I can wear to make this Monday less Monday-like," she thought to herself, but as she searched through her four-tiered jewelry box, her six-shelved shoe display and her three makeup bags (1. home 2. travel 3. special occasion), nothing presented itself as an obvious and assured pick-her-up. She looked down at her puppy, hoping for a sympathetic face but instead noticed his stare laser-focused on the dresser adjacent to her bed. "Of course," she said out loud, bending down to rub the little bit of baby scruff still left on his nearing-adulthood head. Like my Montesquieu, G's dog, too, has a gifted aptitude for fashion, as evidenced by his silent but forceful recommendation for her to peruse her neatly color/fabric/style assembled drawers of unmentionables. Finding nothing particularly inspirational in the left-hand drawer - the one that housed all her above-the-waist garments - she turned to its right-hand counterpart. In a matter of seconds, she selected just the thing.

Or things, really.

Now, despite the kind of exhibitionist we all know my friend can be, she's never actually worn black thigh-highs with two-inch lace trim and matching accoutrements to work before. At least that's what she told me. "It just never seemed appropriate," she wrote in her mid-morning e-mail, though with her questionable standards in other style-related areas (e.g. dressy short shorts in the office, black nail polish at her brother's wedding, vintage micro-mini at Morton's in Georgetown, etc.), I am honestly quite surprised it took her this long to take the plunge.

Her story reminded me of that post I wrote a few weeks ago on spa treatments in which women indulge not for others but for themselves. Like a Brazilian wax, dressing like page 44 of the Victoria's Secret catalogue underneath her Ann Taylor separates is something a woman does solely for herself.

And maybe, if (s)he's lucky, that bored, didn't-get-any-over-the-weekend-again soul sitting at just the right angle in the board meeting.


9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Is this "friend" of yours single?

bff in chicago said...

Find out what your friend is wearing over these interesting pieces of lingerie. I'm sure it wouldn't take more than a quick glance, I mean, phone call/e-mail :-)

You are my favorite little Chinese-speaking tart, you know that?

Anonymous said...

The woman who dresses, thinks, acts and writes like that is one in a million. At least. True, irresistible charisma--intellectual, aesthetic and sexual. She sounds dangerous.

Anónimo No Mas said...

I for one am shocked that it took "G" this long to discover such a treat. I was certain we had long shared another just-for-me-secret.

Anonymous said...

If only the poor saps sitting with you at Bolling or Rayburn or wherever you have meetings knew what you and your friends were up to, even less would get done in the USG than it already does!

Johanna said...

Anonimo no mas:

You surprise me! And no, she had no idea how empowering these undergarments could be. It sounds addictive...

I miss you, lovely :-(

Anónimo No Mas said...

I only look sweet and innocent. And don't think I won't be wearing a trench to the airport when he arrives (a fine tip from this blog).

I miss you and your little dog too!

nyc admirer said...

Addictive, eh? Does this mean there's going to be a repeat offense? Maybe when you come up to the *real* city?

pvd admirer said...

She *is* dangerous. But it's worth getting close to the fire, isn't it?

What's that line from "Factory Girl" you liked so much? Something about vulgar trumping normalcy? Yeah, that's you.

And we can't get enough of it.