He Who Wears Versace (last night): "I thought you were working on that black top."
Me: "I am."
HWWV: "Then what's that?"
Me: "It's a shrug I'm making up for Girlfriend."
HWWV: "Aren't shrugs kind of out?"
Me: "Not as out as ponchos."
HWWV: "No darling, you're wrong. The shrug went out before the poncho."
So now I am under tremendous pressure. Not fashion pressure, mind you (I'm used to listening to HWWV). Any mother who knows anything understands that we can impose all sorts of fashion atrocities on our younger children. I'm feeling project pressure. I have too many. And now that I am almost on the home stretch of Orangina, I've wasted most of my precious daylight on the Girlfriend Shrug, something that she doesn't really need and probably something that may not even stay on.
Maybe I'm secretly aching for a shrug. A shrug is something a gal should just be able to pull on in a pinch, you know? Edgier than a cardigan, and definitely more fun, it is one of those items that can make or break you. But it has to look like it was an afterthought: "Oh, I'm off to do something sensational and my very lovely, skinny-but-muscular arms are a tad chilly...I'll just pull this out of my bag and toss it on and go to the exhibit."
Yeah, right. That'll be the day.