Style and the City

I had my own little "Sex and the City" moment. For years I have been coveting a piece of Tiffany silver and finally, after I got my promotion (thank you, thank you), I decided that there was no earthly reason why I should not own a piece of my very own Tiffany. I wanted to do this for myself rather than wait for Arthur to get one for me. It's a girl-can-do it thing. So, one lunch time last week, I moseyed on up to 85 Bloor Street West, where the mecca of jewellery stores is located. I felt intimidated by the huge doors a little, but I pushed them open and here I was. I stood in the door way just a second to take in the atmosphere. The security guard (in a suit) greeted me from his station and almost made me jump a mile. But soon, I felt right at home. The lighting was discreet, the carpeting lush and soft and the staff all solicitous for helping find what I wanted. But not in my face. They politely inquired, they did not approach unless summoned. Well, I let myself be helped. You see, apparently, silver is on the second floor. Who knew there was a second floor! But of course, where would they have kept all the crystal and stuff! So I glided as gracefully as I could up the stairs in my heart congratulating myself on having worn my office shoes. It was actually kind of crowded up there. There were mothers helping daughters choose their first silver necklace. There were men buying silver money clips. And there it was among other gorgeous things - my coveted heart tag pendant. There was a girl with impossibly shiny hair at the counter, but she was helping someone else. So, I was helped by Joanna, an obviously Russian immigrant, who was nevertheless courtesy itself.

Plastic changed hands. She put my necklace in the blue Tiffany pouch, which went in the box tied with silky white ribbon and then in the blue Tiffany bag. Sigh. It was totally, totally satisfying. I walked down the street holding my Tiffany bag. And I know I am now an officially evil and shallow person who bows to labels and the doors to Nirvana are firmly shut against the likes of me, but when I put my new silver heart on with the Return to Tiffany stamped on it, I felt like everyone knew that I had something special round my neck (which I'm sure they did not). I had this newfound confidence. And now I want to go back there. Even just to browse. And my name is now on their registry. And I know I sound like I'm five, but this was my lifetime thing - to have something from Tiffany. It's like I have crossed a threshold.

... meanwhile, on the other side of town...

I did go to see SATC today and was totally satisfied. It was like a two and a half hour episode of the show and everything that I expected happened - Miranda is still a workaholic who takes care of everyone but herself and ends up resenting them for it, Charlotte is the princess of 5th Avenue, Samantha wants more sex and she doesn't get any and Carrie and Big get married. Finally, finally, they do it! I think I may want to get the DVD (hint to husbands who my read this).

...and finally

You should check out panties for peace. In an effort to atone for my evil jewellery buying ways, I will participate in the campaign to send women's underwear to guerillas in Mayanmar. You see these guerillas believe that touching women's underwear will rob them of their power. Interesting since they use rape as a weapon of war. Presumably they have to touch underwear then... Anyway, there is this campaing asking women to send in their panties to these guerillas as a peaceful way to help fight them and show solidarity to women being affected by the brutal fighting. Check out this site http://pantiesforpeace.ca/

Walking Hurt

I sprained my ankle yesterday. I was hoisting Penboy over this guardrail and I stepped onto the pavement wrong and my left foot lost balance and twisted. Ouch. I set the child down and he dropped the water cup he was holding. Of course there was screaming at that. I wanted to scream too, in pain. I have not sprained my ankle in a long time, in fact, the last time was when I was still teaching. I was leaving this bar, the Green Room. I was wearing shoes with pretty high heels (for me) and sprained my ankle on the stairs. Then for about a month I had to wear flats and limp. Well, it was the same today. Ugly shoes and limping. Fabulous. And just as I spotted this lovely pair of pumps...

I was going over the guard rail in the first place because we were picking up some rugs that I bought from a co-worker. She's changing decor and one of the rugs is Egyptian Gabbeh, which normally go for about 400 bucks. I got it for 50. The other one is not a Gabbeh, but in that style. OK, they're used. OK, they need cleaning. Some people even likened them to something one might find at a dump. Well, I think they have character. Apparently that might not be a high selling point. Sigh.

OK, now I will go and eat ice cream and maybe sit on my antique "ordures" style rug and nurse my sore foot and my thumb that I closed a door on. Yeah, it's not been the best couple of days.