Wednesday, October 26, 2005

I was once a very rich woman

Dear Marc, I was once a very rich woman. Or at least I thought I was. I found out I was a Swedish millionaire on my way to New York City. What better place to be a millionairess! I tried to figure out what a rich person would do. I had no experience. I thought of 5th avenue, Park Avenue and Madison Avenue. I tried on my new wealthy persona. It didn’t quite fit, but perhaps I could grow into it. Rich people seem to be into lots of fur. I’m not. But I saw plenty of dead animals on the backs of the women on 5th Avenue that day in December back when I was a wealthy girl.

I could never afford Agnès B when she was the brand we were all talking about. But years later, when I was rich, I thought I could at least dare to enter the store.

So I did, and right then and there I fell in love with a beautiful, soft white wool coat with a white, politically correct fake fur collar. I put it on and immediately thought to myself ”so this is how it feels to be rich”! I bought it. Man, it felt good! And every time I’ve worn it, people have commented on the prettiness of this coat. Then Christmas rolled around and I was wearing my coat everywhere I went, feeling like an ice skating princess straight out of a Russian fairytale. An ice skating princess in need of a Christmas tree. I walked down my street to buy a fine tree and imagine my joy when they served mulled wine to the happy tree buyers. I sipped the wine, bought my tree and loved life. Then time came to carry the spruce back home. I’m a small woman and it was quite a big tree. I figured carrying on my back was the only way to go. But I also love wine and had a hard time quitting sipping.

So I held the cup between my teeth as I swung the tree up on my back. Don’t follow my example. Unless you want lots of red wine all over your rich woman white coat. People were staring, I’m sure they were wondering why I did such a stupid thing. And all the dry cleaners were closed for the evening as I live in Stockholm, a city where only 7-11 are familiar with the concept of 24/7 service. I had to do the unthinkable. I had to throw my jewel in the washing machine. It got the wine out alright, but it also lost its shape. Like Tina Charles sings, “I found my sense of rhythm but I lost my self control”. You have to take the bad with the good.

I’m not rich anymore, but the coat remains as a memento of sweeter times. And as a reminder that you should never drink and jive with Christmas trees.

Now I am asking you: Do you make pretty, water/wine resistant rich woman coats? I need one for the Christmas season coming up.

Hopeful wishes


Anna said...

Dearest Em,

This is a very sad story (although a highly enjoyable read.) I keep
imagining myself at your side, holding your cup and saying sensible
things like "Why don't we get someone to carry the freaking tree for
you?" I wish I had. But if it's any comfort at all, I've seen the
coat post-accident and it does look very good, even after the whole
washing machine encounter. So there's hope for you yet. You'll look
great this Christmas too, I know it. Just keep your couture far, far
away from any detergent. Or someone with sensible shoes (your
mother?) nearby.

With love,

Sara said...

Testimony: I have seen the boots standing in E's closet. They exist.

I am wearing riding boots bought in a thrift shop for approximately $3. My mother is very much like E's (the teabag in the handbag for example).

nerinossa said...

Dear Marc, I was once a very rich woman

Руслан Морозов said...

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