2002-12-19 - 11:57 a.m.
I went out, in the rain, to do a little Christmas shopping.
I must preface this by telling you what I look like -- I'm about 5'7". I'm at least a little overweight. I have very dark hair (actually unbrushed) with a fair amount of grey sprinkled through it. It's pretty straight, parted in the middle, I guess to my shoulders now. I'm wearing -- olive green corduroy pants. A black TURTLENECK. An olivey green Norwegian type cardigan -- the kind with silver clasps up the front. It has a sort of black and grey subtle pattern in it. Black Clarks boots. One of those horrible little Christmas lights necklaces (there's a party I might go to later on today.) I have glasses.
I am seriously uncool. I look like somebody's mother. I AM somebody's mother. I have other important things to do than worry about how I look, so I don't worry too much. Besides, if I worried, I would cry.
Anyway -- so I go down to Telegraph Ave. -- center of all student life, here -- to do some shopping. I go into that bath store -- Baths and Beyond? Something like that. I'm there on a mission for Nora -- that's okay. I stop in the Gap, where I find some socks and pajamas and scarves -- including a really nice scarf that I might keep, because it's wool, and it's pink and brown. That's okay -- I'm just some mom, shopping. Eventually I make my way down to the tattoo parlor. It's a little scary. It has scary music playing. But it has really cute socks in the counter, and pretty cute t-shirts that my niece might like.
Anyway -- the guy behind the counter is this very young English guy who notices I'm looking at the Paul Frank stuff and recommends the Paul Frank day-of-the-week underwear, which I admit is cute, but which I am not sending to my niece.
No, I say. I think I'll just take these socks.
We've got a lot of cute stuff, he says. I think I'm going to get those for my cousin back home.
You know, in one of those London sort of accents, I think.
Yeah, I say. These are for my niece.
What are you doing this afternoon? he asks.
I sort of look at him. What to say?
Or do you have any younger people at home?
It turns out they're having a fashion show, in the city, and he's giving out tickets. You've got to be 21, though. Though Nora would probably dearly like to go.
So he gives me a CD of music from the show.
Very very odd, although maybe in England there are people dressed like me wandering around fashionable tattoo parlor fashion shows all the time.
Last time I was in there they were nice to me, too --
Anyway -- I think I will go check out this party, although really I would rather eat arsenic.
Oh it's not that bad.
Got to go --
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