(no subject)
Sep. 26th, 2005 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraI found my coat.
You know, that black leather trench coat I've wanted for, like, a thousand years?
I walked into the thrift store today intent upon browsing the used poetry books section for some Whitman I'd never read and I saw this tiny sign that read "Leather Sale." So I figured, what the hell. I might as well take a look.
It was there. Buried under a bunch of other coats, some of them brown, some of them red, some with fur collars. There was a random sparkly dress, a series of knit scarves.
And there was my coat.
I stood there, mouth open, and just stared at it for a few minutes, afraid to try it on. I took it off the hangar and inspected it, sure there must be something wrong with it. Sure that the lining must be ripped, that there must be a bleach stain along one of the lapels, sure that there was a rip over one of the shoulders. The only problem: one missing generic black button.
I couldn't stand it. I walked away. I browsed the poetry section, picking up a copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese and a tiny pocket-sized paperback of some T. S. Eliot. I browsed through the appliances, the furniture, the shirts, the pants, the belts, the shoes, the music, the goddamn romance novels.
It felt like having a crush, you know, the kind where you can't look at the guy because you might give everything away with the flicker of an eyelid. Looking at the coat would mean that I loved it, and I wasn't ready to dedicate my life to it quite yet.
Then, I had a serious talk with myself that consisted of something like this:
Pro!Carmen: Dude. You've been looking for that coat for four years.
Scared!Carmen: But.... It's too perfect. Something must be wrong.
Pro!Carmen: The only thing that's wrong is your brain. It's your coat! You know it's yours!
Scared!Carmen: But I should think about it. That's a lot of money to spend on a--
Pro!Carmen: You're getting it at a thrift store! You're paying less than a quarter of the price you'd pay anywhere else! You earn twice that much in a week!
Scared!Carmen: But what if--
Pro!Carmen: You know what? Screw this. Walk away. Know for the rest of your life that you passed up your coat.
Scared!Carmen, pulling out debit card: Where's the damn checkout?
So now I have a black leather coat that will just brush the top of my medium-height boots, and will look so totally awesome in the winter and it swirls and swishes and slides and smells so nice and is obviously not new and so has a story and I love it love it love it love it.
I realize I sound like a crazy person. But my god. It's like...it's like nothing. It's my coat. It's my grail, it's my arc, it's my goddamn Atlantis.
It's mine.
You know, that black leather trench coat I've wanted for, like, a thousand years?
I walked into the thrift store today intent upon browsing the used poetry books section for some Whitman I'd never read and I saw this tiny sign that read "Leather Sale." So I figured, what the hell. I might as well take a look.
It was there. Buried under a bunch of other coats, some of them brown, some of them red, some with fur collars. There was a random sparkly dress, a series of knit scarves.
And there was my coat.
I stood there, mouth open, and just stared at it for a few minutes, afraid to try it on. I took it off the hangar and inspected it, sure there must be something wrong with it. Sure that the lining must be ripped, that there must be a bleach stain along one of the lapels, sure that there was a rip over one of the shoulders. The only problem: one missing generic black button.
I couldn't stand it. I walked away. I browsed the poetry section, picking up a copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese and a tiny pocket-sized paperback of some T. S. Eliot. I browsed through the appliances, the furniture, the shirts, the pants, the belts, the shoes, the music, the goddamn romance novels.
It felt like having a crush, you know, the kind where you can't look at the guy because you might give everything away with the flicker of an eyelid. Looking at the coat would mean that I loved it, and I wasn't ready to dedicate my life to it quite yet.
Then, I had a serious talk with myself that consisted of something like this:
Pro!Carmen: Dude. You've been looking for that coat for four years.
Scared!Carmen: But.... It's too perfect. Something must be wrong.
Pro!Carmen: The only thing that's wrong is your brain. It's your coat! You know it's yours!
Scared!Carmen: But I should think about it. That's a lot of money to spend on a--
Pro!Carmen: You're getting it at a thrift store! You're paying less than a quarter of the price you'd pay anywhere else! You earn twice that much in a week!
Scared!Carmen: But what if--
Pro!Carmen: You know what? Screw this. Walk away. Know for the rest of your life that you passed up your coat.
Scared!Carmen, pulling out debit card: Where's the damn checkout?
So now I have a black leather coat that will just brush the top of my medium-height boots, and will look so totally awesome in the winter and it swirls and swishes and slides and smells so nice and is obviously not new and so has a story and I love it love it love it love it.
I realize I sound like a crazy person. But my god. It's like...it's like nothing. It's my coat. It's my grail, it's my arc, it's my goddamn Atlantis.
It's mine.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-17 03:06 pm (UTC)and...i think i've thought of a way to get the word out quicker...if u want, you can drop ur email address with me and i'll email you when challenges come out, when voting is up, and the winners are revealed.
:) so, reply to this comment, please, or email me @ oDeMoLiTiON.LoVeRo@gmail.com