Not the kind I used to lose when I was young and single. A few bits of lingerie here and there were expected but not entirely pain free. I mean, those “special” little loincloths could set a working girl back a few clicks. Leaving special knickers behind was a hard lesson in fiscal responsibility back then.
But now that I’m old and married? Losing articles of clothing is just downright irritating.
My favorite flip-flops, for example. [both of them]
A beautiful camel-colored pump [only the right….not the left]
And the worst to date? My cherished Burberry scarf. I spent all day scouring a New York hotel in a frenzied search. A few guests fled when they saw me pawing through the housekeeping trash in a darkened stairwell. I tried to explain but when a wild-eyed women holding a smelly banana peel in one hand and the remnants of a New York Times in the other, the overly-gentile take on a harshly judgmental attitude. I suspect they reported me to the front desk.
No matter. I have been judged harshly a time or two on my road to respectability.
For the love of Pete, we’re talking Burberry here! What self-respecting fashionista wouldn’t get their paws a little dirty to get back such a cherished accessory? You soak your hands in a little clorox and redo the manicure and you’re golden. Small price to pay if it means reuniting with finely spun cashmere.
Oh, did I mention it was cashmere? Burberry cashmere?
Changes the game, don’t it, sisters and brothers united in fashion? Now you understand the magnitude of the situation. It was the proverbial all-is-lost moment in this tragic tale of fashion.
I had broken the oath of no cashmere left behind.
I was ashamed. I was not worthy.
So I went the way of the coward….Straight to the hotel bar and into the outstretched wings of a large, Grey Goose.
Yeah, I stayed long enough to start spittin’ out feathers but I was in distress, okay? Cut me some slack!
Then lo and behold, just as the bartender was about to call security, an angel appeared before me. Cocooned in a glow of pure white light, arms stretched toward me in offering. I blinked once, twice, struggling to focus. Yes, yes… it was human. And it was wearing a suit with a name-tag.
No, the haircut was all wrong and he wasn’t smiling. It was definitely the concierge.
And he had my scarf! Oh, happy day and praise the Baby Jesus. The blessed one had my scarf.
I reached for it, snatch it away from the stoic concierge.
I buried my face in its creamy softness and cooed.
I was asked never to return to this hotel. [probably over that whole dumpster-diving thing]
I didn’t care. I had my scarf.