Inspirations plus: What to wear when the lights go out August 4, 2008 05:50
Vogue Paris Original 1352
Sometimes, nature’s timing is perfect. Last night, for instance. A monsoon storm raged outside. Lightning ever so close outside the front windows. Ever so close outside the rear. Frenetic. Kinetic. Amazing. Absolutely. I had just put the fried chicken (hey, I was raised in Louisiana — fried was a food group, and a delicious and cherished one at that) on to drain. The roasted potatoes were in the oven. I was walking from the freezer in the garage to the kitchen, toting frozen green peas. Whap. Brrrraaaaacccckkk. Bam. The lights went out. Completely. It was black up. Black down. Black all around. I felt my way to the kitchen. His Bertness found a flashlight. I plated the chicken. He plated the roasted taters. I remembered that there were candles on the dining room table from a recent dinner party. Yes. Yes. Yes. Life is beautiful. Being a lackadaisical housekeeper pays off. At last. Dinner by candlelight. Unplanned. Exquisite. It’s true we had nothing green. No peas. No green beans. No asparagus. No salad. But we had light that flickered, that glowed topaz.
What could have made this lovely dinner better? A sophisticated hostess ensemble. Of course. Vogue Paris Original 1352, a Lanvin design suitable for Jeanne Moreau. So sixties. So gorgeous. So dramatic. (Although, truly, frying chicken in it might have been difficult. I’m sure I could carry it off. But. Still. I might cry if there was a grease splatter on the velvet.)
The electricity sparked five minutes after dinner was over. I told you: perfect timing. Could not have been better if I’d planned it all week.
The downside — alas, there is one — is this: When we went upstairs, we discovered the master bathroom floor masquerading as a wading pool and the sheetrock bulging like Peter Lorre’s eyes. The Bathroom Drama continues. Oh my heck, to quote Marie O. (I personally find the woman as annoying as a dripping faucet, but I do have a beloved friend who thinks she is the cat’s.) Drying the floor was a multi-towel task. Five, to be precise. And if we have more rain, the leak will doubtless continue through the night. The Bathroom Drama, Part 3. Oh my heck, oh my heck, oh my heck. I am not ready for it. Couldn’t I break a nail instead? Get a ladder in my nylons? Have a root canal with no lydocaine?
Oh, well. We’ll always have Paris.
And fried chicken.