Venues and Culottes

A few days ago Ellen and I found ourselves with a free afternoon and a hankering for junk food. A new cupcake place has opened in what we affectionally call the Ghetto Mall up in West Ashley, or West Ashtray as Ellen calls it. So we headed out to the second home of our teenage days, insisting on visiting the same stores we perused when we were sixteen. It was here in one of these stores as we gazed up at sequined crop-tops and neon mini-skirts, it occurred to Ellen that "maybe I shouldn't still shop here."
"You still shop here?" I asked judgmentally as an eleven year old in a tube top sauntered by, a Starbucks cup with a long green straw filling both of her small, unseasoned hands.

We found ridiculous outfits to try on and like little girls we squeezed into formal dresses, hippy shrouds, and an assortment of getups we would never debut. Ellen chose to try on what they call a 'romper' which is what us old folks used to call culottes. It did look kind of cute on the hanger and as I shimmied into some assuredly unbefitting business wear, I heard a hearty guffaw from Ellen's dressing room followed by an outraged gasp.
"Laura you have to see this." she said with haste. "I look like a member of the Vontrapp family!"

"The VonTrapps Visit Bermuda." I titled it and thus an off-Broadway, Guy Family Cinematic Concoction was born.

In other news, my current state of anonymous shuttle driver of Middle Eastern decent and junior member of a small construction company specializing in making things look girly and effortless, has me bruised, sore, seriously angry and running up quite the gasoline bill. The last two weeks have been so awful that I almost just walked out once. And except for the spontaneous abandoning of my SCAD dorm before sundown and that one day in biology class where lunch was more appealing than a lecture on invisible floating bits with colorful globs inside, I ain't no walker outer. A quitter, yes. But not a walker outer. Those guys are the worst.

We recently had a wedding tear down that was so awful and nearly impossible that my Old Man himself came to help out. While he was by far the sweatiest (and hairiest) member of the decor team that night, he sure saved the day. "Thank goodness Papa Union was there!" one girl said. 

"We should like, buy him some wine or something."

"OMG! Champagne and OJ."

"Uh, whatever. He doesn't seem like the mimosa type."

"Oh. Yeah. But we should totally go to brunch tomorrow."

"Oh totally for sure! T.B.T. to brunch at Fuel last Sat. Hilar!"

"Haha! So hilar!"

"Hahaha!!"

"No but really. We should like, by him like a loaf of bread, but like, good bread you know? Like banana nut."

"Omg I love banana nut!"

"OMG me too! We're like soul sisters!"

"We should SnapChat this! Here, get in this selfie... hashtag soulsistazz!!!"

"HAHA!!"

"Hahahaha!! So cute. Put it on Insta!"

"We're totally crazy. Laura do you think we're crazy?"

This is a word for word conversation that took place as we walked to our cars at the end of that night. While I did not see Dad particularly enjoying a gift of champagne or even a moist loaf of banana nut, I looked past all this and focused on the good intentions of them wanting to give him a Thank You gift and told them that "yes, you are crazy" but I added "in a fun way." to make them feel pleased with themselves. 

This is because last week when one of them got back together with her on-again off-again, verbally abusive and pig-nosed boyfriend, I told her she was a deranged masochist with questionable taste and she later told me she could see me happily working at Trader Joe's for the rest of my life because I'm so "earthy and nice." I smiled and told her that was the nicest backhanded compliment I've ever gotten and she was genuinely pleased with herself. Then began a conversation of my being a flowerchild and they decided that is the reason that "Laura has a lot of hot guys in her life." 

"It's because she's low maintenance." the insulting one said. "Like she doesn't bother dressing up or doing her hair." 

I looked up from crafting boutonnieres and stared blankly into space.

"That's like, a total good thing." another quickly said to me, for fear I was offended.

"And also I'm just super shallow." a third one stated. 

"OMG! You know who is so so so shallow??"

And then we learned all about Kristen M. from Comm 205 and her weekend habits, minimal wardrobe, and physical flaws. I feel bad for Kristen M.

Have I exhausted y'all yet? 

The best part of this job, I've decided, are the venues. Most are so lovely and I like to imagine gathering all my favorite people in these places for a big barbecue and bonfire. In this gorgeous hallway we'd play numerous rounds of Shanghai. On this lawn I'd sit with my aunts and sip lemonade while we work on our next Leisure Club venture. This porch would be my porch and I'd sit in a rocking chair with my gaggle of dogs and various farm animals and look out at my field of tomato plants and watermelons, the smell of jasmine circling in the air.

Setting up temporary fantasy-lands for people keeps me in a constant dreamy state... 

and then one of the girls turns on her Britney Spears playlist and they all glom together and "just dance" for a few minutes. Waving their hands and pursing their lips. "Britney is my girl!" they will say, singing wildly and sending my imaginary farm animals running for cover, polluting such a gorgeous fantasy.