Thursday, September 10, 2009

Don't Take Your Gloves To Town


As if to make a point, my computer has been giving me a lot of trouble the last few days. Proving how indispensable it is to me - I think between the two of us we share one brain.

Giving up on the computer for a while gave me a chance to start getting my stuff together for the flea market I'm selling at on Sunday. I started out with a huge pile of clothes and shoes, but if I keep "organizing" much longer there won't be much left to sell.

Lots of my clothes haven't fit in over two years - those have to go. There are some I have no problem getting rid of: any clothes I bought and wore for temping. Also some black clothes hastily purchased to wear to my mother's funeral a few years back - as if I ever needed more black clothes, but it felt like it wasn't respectful enough to wear a skirt or top I'd played a gig or gone grocery shopping in. Items from Target or H&M, usually a cheap pick-me-up that briefly served its purpose and then made me feel kind of worse - those can definitely go.

There are some things I'm incapable of parting with: purses - I have dozens, even though I tend to drag around the same tired messenger bag everywhere. Each cute purse is a potential other life where I'm daintily pulling a compact out of a tiny beaded handbag instead of heaving a janitor-worthy set of keys, water bottles, notebooks, set lists and trail mix around; hats, same thing - all the possibilities to become someone else; scarves - even if I hate the colors and have no intention of ever doing anything with them but looking at them next to each other, it's like a miniaturized amalgamation of every thrift shop I've ever been in, there in the scarf drawer.

I can't even think of selling the odd unwearable vintage clothes I've been carrying around forever - a skirt sewn to look like an entire roulette wheel with felt numbers around the hem and a sequined ball pinned on, a floor-length white raincoat with big black buttons, a 50's white leather jacket embroidered with silver, a black lamé pantsuit from the late 60's worth keeping even for the label - "MicMac St. Tropez" in bright green thread on royal blue...A 70's grey Western suit jacket, 100% polyester but incredibly well-cut by that master of tailoring Kenny Rogers, either before or after his chicken restaurant failed.

It's a good thing I wasn't here when the vide grenier woman returned my call to book a space - they do it by metre and I thought a metre was comparable to a foot so I was going to ask for five. A metre's actually closer to a yard. Eric told her two, but if I keep subtracting stuff that's still going to be too much.

5 comments:

the sandwich life said...

oh good LUCK!!!!ant

the sandwich life said...

oh....sorry it says ant after my comment....I was jumping ahead to the word thing....typical of the day I might add....GEESH

Bob_NJ said...

dibs onthe roulette skirt !!!!!

Rosie said...

I have some super splendid retro ball gowns too...no point in trying to sell them to french farmers wives.
They will just have to stay cluttering up the wardrobe and reminding me of that old life of tatty excess. i think we should throw a party at an address somewhere betweejn the two of us so that we both get to wear the ones we can still squeeze into...

amy said...

Thanks Cynthia - I tried to keep in mind what you said about finding my place on the food chain...doesn't get much higher than roots and tubers around here so in that way I did okay.

Only if you take the matching halter top Bob!

Good point about who exactly is doing the shopping around here, Rosie. Pluc-ville! A ladies' clothing swap is a great idea, we did it a few times in Nashville. My daughter ended up scoring everyone's tiny castoffs... Meanwhile, yes, drinks in our vintage rock finery sounds swell.