“You look like an artist,” she said to me.
“An artist?” I asked, mildly amused.
Of all the 22 years of my life, I have not once been likened to an artist!
“Yeah, an artist!”
“What does an artist look like?”
“…erm, kinda like you!”
I went from not once in my life being likened to an artist to being the definition of an artist.
“What was it about me though?”, I wondered to myself.
Was it my hair?
My hair was in a twist out that day. A fresh twist out! My first attempt using gel. I was quite impressed with the results. I shall definitely make gel a permanent staple in my product repertoire now.
Was it my nails?
I have been growing out my nails of late. I think they look prettier that way, more girl-y!
Nicely filed and well polished, they have the power to make me feel like a new person, I normally feel super sophisticated when I have done my nails. Okay, confession time, I have only done them once since my new “growing them out” phase. I have not had the patience for a repeat performance, so to speak. On this particular day, I had the ring finger on my right hand done with a deep maroon polish. This is always the finger I start with when I intend to do my nails. More often than not, it is the only finger that gets done. I need to be more patient?
Was it my shoes?
I recently bought a new pair of shoes. Boots. Walking boots. Navy blue in colour. They cost me a pretty penny too! I definitely felt the pinch. For all that money I paid, you would think they’d keep themselves clean. They don’t. Sadly this is another area of life one may say I need to work on. Personally I don’t think so. I believe that in the future, shoes will keep themselves clean. I don’t like touching shoes unnecessarily. Putting them on, that’s it. Taking them off can be done with the feet. I generally just do not like feet now that we are on the topic. Feet, toes, shoes, socks, all things I have a little bit of difficulty with. Are feet really necessary? Why yes, yes Kathleen, they really are.
Back to these boots, I feel like Wonder Woman when I wear them. They shall be my everyday shoes for the next 3 months!
Was it my trousers?
I remember the day I bought that pair of trousers. I liked the blue. A deep, bright blue that reminded me of water. Sea water. I tried them on and they fit like a charm. Except, there was a little rip on the side of my right bum. Definitely a deal-breaker, no? Surely, it is not possible to overlook a rip right on the bum! The guy selling, a true sales man, convinced me that rip was no big deal. He could have it fixed while I waited, at no extra cost. So I waited, imagining some neat handiwork, a few stitches to hold the rip together, but no. The guy had the tailor put a patch over the rip. A patch right on the side of my right bum. The piece of cloth, the patch, is actually a clothing label, and I totally understood where this guy was trying to go with this idea. Jeans/trousers typically have labels at the waist, which is what this guy was going for. He hoped this label would blend in and seem like it had always been there. The patch/label he got though stuck out like a thumb. A conspicuous white rectangle on my deep ocean blue trousers, sewn in with bright red thread! Right on the bum, did I mention? When he brought back the trousers, I could not believe that he actually expected me to still buy those trousers, so I did. Just to surprise myself, heh heh! I wear the trousers anyway. Chances are people barely notice the white patch/label on the side of my right bum, if they do, funny enough, no one has ever asked about it. It must not be that out of place then. Or maybe, they do notice and attribute the randomity to my…artsy-ness?
I can tell you a story about virtually anything and everything. Have you picked up on that yet?
The top I was wearing that day, a black vest, hasn’t always been mine. This is our little secret, try not to judge me too harshly… Here’s how it came into my possession…one fine day after we had done laundry, my house mate, Betty, took our clothes off the line and brought them into the house. I sorted through them, taking what is mine and putting aside what is not, I later took what wasn’t mine to Betty’s room. While putting away her clothes, she came across a black vest among her things, it was not hers, so she put it on my bed, assuming it was mine. When I next saw it, I told her it was not mine and she confirmed it was not hers either. Now, what we should have done is taken the top back to the clothes line in the hopes that the owner will find it…but we did not. Okay, I did not. I liked it too much. I thought about it’s versatility, how convenient that it had come into my possession given that I had been meaning to get myself a black vest soon…heh heh! Every time I wear it though, I imagine someone stopping me on the stairs to say something like, “Hey, I used to have a top just like that!”
Finally, on the vest was a blue crop top with the words mermaid written across the front. This top, my dad bought for me. I had had it for over 6 months and never worn it, I just never knew what to wear with it. (Another reason why it was providence that black vest came into my possession, no? Clutching at straws now…)
…and there I was, an artist for a day.