Future Fat Ass

Wolison's post on Fashion Week reminded me that I haven't talked to you all yet about the war that is going to be waged in the Mookie household come April. It's like this: Mr. Mooks and I are planning a little jaunt to Europe au printemps. We don't have a lot of details yet; only that we are leaning towards London and Paris. This might seem generic, but here's the rub: I'VE NEVER BEEN TO EUROPE. So take your haughtiness and stick it down your underpants, I want to go to London and Paris. Also, LM has already been to those pretzel-and-beer-and-leiderhosen countries like Germany and Austria so we're not going there, at least not right now. And finally (and you will LOVE this tidbit of condescention), the LM informed me that as a world traveler, he can tell me that it's very lonely and disorienting being in a country where no one speaks your language, and I would probably do well to first visit an English speaking country. Because my feeble little pea brain could NEVER handle someone speaking to me in a foreign language. Baisez ma derriere, LM.

But I digress. As it happens, my sister in law and her husband (you know, Colleen and Dr. Steve) went to Italy last week. While they were visiting us here in ATL a couple of weekends ago, Colleen mentioned that she had to fit all of her belongings in a backpack for their trip to Italia. Ha ha ha ha, I laughed. Backpacking! That is for drunken college children. Seriously Colleen, would you like to borrow this adorable pink steamer trunk I have for your voyage? After all, where else will you fit the five outfits per day you will need?

Then the LM laid the serious shit on me. Mooks, he said. What do you think is going to happen when we go to Europe?

Well, I said. Here is what will happen to ME:



Also:



And:



No, said the LM. No, here is what will happen to you Mookie:



AUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!

On a serious tip though, why?? We are going to two cities. Hear me: two CITIES. If I have a large suitcase instead of a craptastic nylon backpack, what's the difference? Either way, my bag will live in my London hotel (HOTEL, not hostel, LM) and then it will live on the Chunnel, and then it will live in my Paris hotel. Finis! Incidentally, I have nothing against backpacking. I truly, truly wish I had had the opportunity and funding for that kind of trip when I was 21. But I didn't. Now to me, my reward for waiting until the ancient age of 27 to get to The Continent should be traveling en style. I would even be fine with backpacking if I were going to rural, mountainy countries. But I am going to LONDON and I am going to PARIS. I need space for the few shreds of fashionable clothing I do own, and more importantly, I need empty room for bringing back the MORE fashionable clothing that I find there. The kind of clothing whose beauty you have to shield your eyes from so that it doesn't burn your corneas.

Allow me to relate another tale: When I was seven years old, my aunt and uncle took my cousin Ryan, same age, to Europe for the first time. My uncle is German and they visited his homeland among other places. For two weeks while they were gone, my two-year-old cousin Loren lived with us. I love her now, but damn did I hate that devil-baby who took all my mom's attention. When her parents FINALLY came back to get her, they came bearing gifts!! And the most glorious gift of all was for seven-year-old Mookie. It was a lovely pair of pants, straight from the runways of Paris. They were stark white, pleated, and featured a convoluted arrangement of buckles, snaps and buttons. As soon as I put them on, I KNEW I would be the most fabulous girl in the first grade. You couldn't have given me a better gift if you told me I had inherited Toys R Us.

The point is that even at seven, I knew that all good things fashion spill out of Paris. Those pants were an icon, and this trip is my pilgrimage. I tried to convey all this that night with the LM and Colleen and Dr. Steve. The subject died and C and Dr. S went on their backpacking tour of Italy. So yesterday they got back and you want to know what Colleen says, totally unsolicited by me? She says that all Italian women wear the most beautiful clothes, and she felt completely out of place in her wrinkled jeans and sneakers.

HAAAAAHHHHH!!!! HA! LM!

I told you, I told you. Rick Steves crappacks are terrible, and lovely suitcases full of lovely clothes are where it's at. I will accept no less. Which brings me back to the war. It's going to happen. I feel the turmoil building the closer we get. LM will try to tell me he knows because he watched a few stupid travel videos and went on one stupid trip to Germany with his old dad. But my will is like a stone fortress, strong and proud. There is a wall ten feet thick and a thousand men guard my decision to carry a big bag. And the flag that flies from my highest turret, is a pair of white pants from Paris.