I’m without "maternity outerwear" in "the windy city," which translates roughly to: oh so screwed. Before leaving for Chicago, The Suitor checked the weather report for me. He might have mentioned thirty-something-degrees come nightfall. I don’t fit into anything. He offered me his sports jackets. I looked like a dumpy man in need of a haircut. I was having none of it. So I’m all about the mismatched layers, I’m afraid. I’m embracing red and aqua together. I’ve done it on paper, but I’ve never worn pale blue with red before. Blue barn jacket with red scarf. Why the hell not? I feel like one of those ladies you see on airplanes, traveling with her husband and an expensive overhead leather bag (except I’ll be doing neither). I always admire these women, the ones who appear so put together and coordinated on the airplane, right down to their jewelry, socks, and somehow stylish yet still sensible shoes. These women must plan their lives with lists of paper. They have regular hair appointments and return to the same manicurist weekly. I rarely return to the same place, never mind regularly, or to the same manicurist. I’m such a last-minute-mover, but this time, I had at least a night to figure out what to do about the outerwear dilemma. I’ll most certainly live. I cannot wait to meet readers today:
CHICAGO! TONIGHT: 7:30 PM at Borders Books: 2817 N. Clark Street.
I’ll be announcing the location of our "cocks and mocks" outing at the reading. (Duh, Cocktails for most; mocktails for me.)
I still don’t know what to read. If you have a favorite bit that you’d love to hear read aloud, please say so now.