Day: March 16, 2022

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My Harlequin Cape, On The Flip-Side

Look at the bigly paisles on my Shirt o’ the Day, and feast your eyes on yet another Art Deco-style Tie o’ the Day. My Cape o’ the Day is, indeed, the soaring punctuation to my attire that I dreamed it would be. All the capes Suzanne has crafted for me (except the prototype) are reversible, which suits me just fine. A two-fer is more than just a nice bonus. In a way, the two-fer aspect speaks to my bipolar brain. My brain can change on a proverbial dime, and I can change the sides of my cape just as quickly. Although Suzanne has made me a gaggle of snazzy capes over the years, she hasn’t made me a new cape in the last 3 years—and I think it’s about time. I don’t know whether to ask her to make me a flannel cape for what’s left of winter, or a seersucker cape for the coming summer. But I am I, so I’m sure I’ll ask for both. And she is she, so I’m sure she’ll make me both. It’s how we roll. 😘

I had a blast wearing my cape today. I wore it around the house for a while. I twirled around in it rapidly, so it would hover in the air—making it appear that I was flying in circles, sideways. Later, when I had to drop something off at the FedEx inside Walmart, I swooshed through the automatic doors as if I were the only person in Walmart wearing a cape—which, of course, I was. I knew that everywhere I went to do errands, I would likely be the only person—adult or kid—wearing a cape. It was such fun for me to wear, and I was sad and teary for everyone else who had to go cape-less. 😢

I hope I never grow up.😁 👶

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Wear Your Best Clothing Treasures Before You’re Dead

It’s not that I forget about my Suzanne-made cape collection. Indeed, I think about it all the time. I’d wear a cape everywhere, all the time—except I continue to have a problem I’ve had my entire life. When I have some extraordinary piece of haberdashery, I tend to decide not to wear it, for fear I will do something to destroy its majesty. When it comes to one of my capes, I get overwhelmed with the possibilities of how I could damage it while I’m out and about. I could spill on it, get it caught in the car door, get it caught in an elevator door, get it caught in a revolving door, and on so on. So I wear a cape sparingly and only at the very special-est of special events. But guess what! Every day is a special event.

This problem of mine must change. I must have more confidence in my abilities to keep my capes safe from harm. And so what if I spill on a cape? That’s what dry cleaners are there for. I am nearly an official old person, and it’s high time I wear my capes (and other clothes I “save” for only the mightiest of occasions) as much as I want to. Remember when you were a kid and for some strange, but logical-to-you reason you wanted to wear your swimsuit or cowboy boots—or both—to bed at night? There was no crime in that. And there’s no crime in my wearing my capes to bed or to the 7-11 or wherever. I must conquer this stoopid fear of ruining my most precious duds. By the time I die, I want all my cool clothes worn thin. And I think you should, too.