Petra shoulders her bag and does her thing from time to
time, just not so much here in the Digital Commons. When Petra does do her groove thang, it’s all still gorgeously
electric. Then, after a change, a wash up and maybe a good night’s sleep,
poised at keyboard, I am able to summon up only the chronicles of a chronically
dull teenage girl.
Dear
Diary. Did eyes a little smokier 2day. Went shopping. Had cocktail. Not sure I like
the smokier eyes. Still hate my arms. Aaaarghhhhh!!! Laters!!!! xoxo
There is no lack of banality around us, and I am loath to
add to it. So there. This is not to say I do not love smoky eye looks, shopping
and cocktails. I most avowedly do. I simply cannot find the great and
illuminating themes within those happy moments that convince me I have
something of value to share.With you.
But what would we be if we did not try?
.......................................................................................
Mrs. Bellejambes and myself were readying to attend a
milestone birthday party a couple of months ago. A surprise party. We knew the
guest of honor was too smart altogether to be surprised, but her husband put so
much work into it, we felt obliged to play along. Theme of the party was all
mod / hippie 60’s, the carefree short hemlined era in which they had met.
I had not put much thought to what I might wear, but Mrs. B.
was entirely swept up in the spirit and was planning and modeling her ensemble weeks
out in advance. Never shy of a shoe shop, she found a perfect pair of white
go-go boots with a danceable stacked heel. Up top a very contemporary abstract
print in wild hues of chartreuse and violet, hitting a couple of inches north
of her knees, very clingy and gorgeous on. I helped her get the head scarf
right and offered up a perfectly good pair of my own vintage, 100% nylon sheers
in pink. She rather hates tights, but condescended for the occasion, and had to
admit that quality makes a difference. I counseled on make up too, doing a
Sephora run for some outlandish lashes. Big lavish falsies, another first for
the dear thing.
She was giddy and girlish with all the prep in a way she
typically is not about dressing. In fact, she reminded me of me. I was so happy
for her, envious of her, and oddly proud of myself for being able to help out a
little. Then, mere hours before the event she asked:
“What are you going to wear?”
“O god, I haven’t a clue. Thinking
of running over to Pyscho Sisters and renting something. I am sure they have a
good Carnaby Street look or two …”
“Why not go as Petra? You could totally
do 60’s …)
Well, darlings, I was not expecting that. I pretty quickly
put the idea on ice. Most people are awkward enough in these settings without
adjusting to the presence of exotic wildlife like Petra. Just too much to
explain to too many in too little time. The party would have been too much about me, and
god knows what the after-party chatter would have gone to.
“Maybe next time honey. Thanks for
asking though”
I did mentally run through a dozen outfits I could have
pulled together in a heartbeat that would have celebrated the era of peace,
love and legs as I drove across town to get a more conventional 60’s guy look
together. And we did look terrific, danced like idiots and had a blast.
She
meant it when she asked. And that means much to me.
.......................................................................................
Some weeks later I was halfway across the country missing
out on Southern Comfort Conference. Long damn week in nicely appointed cabins
in the woods with other leaders of my business unit. Think-a-thon by day,
drink-a-thon by night. Me grinding my teeth in idle moments knowing I was
missing out on National Prom Week in my hometown. Late home Friday night, tired
and happy to be again with wife and peerless dog, I woke up Saturday with a
burning need.
“Darling, tonight Southern Comfort
wraps up. Would you mind if I dressed and took in a night out?”
“There will be drinking. No way you
are driving”
“I can park overnight and cab it
home. Or you can come too. How about it?”
“OK. Will Cindy be there? How about
Gabrielle?”
“I honestly don’t know, but hey, you
are sure to see some people you know”
Snacks and drinks with some old friends met at the lounge.
Tall Bobbie, stately Barbara, and the whole floating, fragrant parade of girls
all strapless and cinched, big-haired, small purse party night looks, such fun.
Loads of chit chat about friends not seen this week, and where the hell have
you been air kisses and hugs. Mrs. Bellejambes is to be admired really. It can’t
be easy on her, she did not seek out this wild company. Bless her she
shared a table with us all and give my knee a nice tap time to time.
She seems to be more willing to indulge Petra, or at least
has gotten past all the reflexive and entirely understandable Waco Tango
Foxtrot impulses that must possess a woman married to man with some of the differences
that I, and perhaps you, have.
In point of fact, perhaps Petra has some catching up to do
in this regard. Petra needs a little more work on indulging Mrs. B. You see, I
have always been more concerned with how my wife copes with, reacts to and
lives with Petra, “the other woman”. There is another level I have been oddly
blind to:
How does Petra cope with, react to and live with Mrs.
Bellejambes?
I must self-assess a failing grade. I tend to dress for
times when the house is empty. I adopted this behavior out of a desire to spare
my gentle wife moments of confusion and despair. Perhaps I even found a little
nobility in it all …. “see, I am willing to sacrifice, and keep Petra more or less out
of site, that’s how much you mean to me …”.
Seen from the other end of the telescope of course there is
a whole ‘nother picture. Selfishness, lack of openness, furtiveness. Perhaps
from that perspective, even dishonesty.
Mrs. B has shown the resiliency and adaptability that woman,
in my experience, typically bring in better measure to life than the lads do.
If I claim to be a better person as a result of having
tapped into my famous feminine side, where, precisely, did I mislay my own
resiliency and adaptability?
I still fumble trying to find things in my purse pockets you
know. Keys to the car, and maybe keys to the future, Going to find a flat
surface, empty the bag and have a little sort through things.
Might need to bide some time with a cheezie diary entry here
in meantime….
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