Sunday

BC and Miss D have lived in New York (or near it) since college, and I've come to associate them with this city: 2 smart, fierce, independent women with style, glamour, and a touch of excess. So when I met them for brunch yesterday, I thought, "Ahhhhh! I really am in New York."

Mimosas at lunch were followed by a bottle of champagne at the Four Seasons, to celebrate BC's new doctoral status and new job, and generally being together in New York. Yes, that touch of excess -- but appropriately applied and in retrospect, a perfect way to memorialize the occasion. I agree with most viewers of Sex and the City that the most remarkable thing about the show, in the end, was the four friends' commitment to seeing each other on a regular basis, to making time to share their lives. A bottle of bubbly in the afternoon was, in retrospect, hardly excessive at all, considering that I met Miss D in math class in junior high and BC in marching band in college; introduced them lo, these many years ago when we had just graduated from college; and was now sitting with both of them, the lovely ladies, at lunch.

Miss D went off to attend a wedding, and BC and I did some shopping, after which she went to mass, and I continued in my search for work clothes. I came up with precious little than one skirt, development of my bitchy side, and a lot of attitude. Oh, and a compliment from a parrot.

Attitude: I returned The White Shirt to Bloomingdale's and went back to Banana Republic, where I found a pair of pants that seemed very promising, but were a tad too long. So I stepped out and queried a sales clerk, "Do these come in zero petite?" To which the clerk quoth: "I'm sure they do, and you can go look for it if you want." To which I was so stunned, I could only say, "Well, I guess that's what I'll do." Damn! That's some serious bitchiness. Where exactly doth this bitchiness come from, and why doth thou direct it toward me, the customer?

Bitchiness: I must admit, I had a fairly low opinion of the BR sales clerks before this, because I was trying on a suit, and asked the ladies of the dressing room, "Do these wide-leg pants make my legs look short? I feel like they make me look shorter than I am." To which a random sales clerk said, "Oh, that's the style now." To which I, the woman who hates shopping, replied, "I understand that's the style, but do they make me look short?" Because who gives a flying fuck about the style if the style is going to make me look like Stumpy McStubbins?

Further bitchiness: And before that interchange, I asked another clerk about a cardigan on one of the mannikins, to which she replied, "It's over there." "Does it come in petite?" I queried. "No, but you can buy it extra small, and it'll be okay," quoth the clerk. "Uh, actually it's not okay, because I just returned something that was extra small because it didn't fit right. But thanks!" And I walked away.

Explanation of bitchiness: I don't know, I just get mad when people are being stupid. Like, an extra small is NOT the same thing as petite. The proportions are different. That is why "petite" exists. As a sales clerk, you should know there's a difference, so don't feed me bullshit about it being okay, because it's not. Along the same line, I don't CARE if wide-legged pants are the style right now, because I'm looking for something that flatters my figure and size. If I were a slave to fashion and just bought things because Sienna Miller or some other starlet started wearing them, I might be impressed by your, "That's the style now," but the fact is that I'm not an automaton who will just reach for her credit card because someone tells me it's "in," when it's actually not flattering. GOD. I'm getting irritated just thinking about it.

Explanation of clerks' bitchiness: probably dealing with cranky customers like me all day.

Oh yes, and the parrot: I was walking out of Ann Taylor Loft, where I found polite staff and a skirt, if not a flattering suit jacket in sight, when I saw a woman holding out a stick with a parrot. "Oh look, a pretty girl!" she gushed to the parrot, who ruffled his feathers and stretched his wings. "Oh yes, I know you like pretty girls, don't you?" she burbled. "Ooh, and she just got a wiggle waggle, didn't she?" The parrot looked noncommittal. I stifled a laugh and walked on, but I admit, I was pretty pleased. It's not every day you get complimented by a wiggle-waggle from a parrot.

And the happy ending: After all the attitude, crankiness and lack of success, I hopped on the bus to BC's place, where she fed me wine, tacquitos, and cheese. And it was damn good.

Today: More searching for office clothes. Ugh.