Green, Green, Green

After Hyne knows how much time, yesterday Shimmy Gin and I finally met. In contrast with his bipolar girlfriend, though we kept postponing our meeting, not even once we questioned the fact that we would meet. And we did. Shimmy was a bit late, as usual, since the traffic at Escazú is completely impredictable, even to Paul The Polip, and me... well, I was kinda late too - not all that much, but late still - for kinda the same reason: the traffic at Sabana is the most perfect random system ever concocted between men, nature and asphalt.

To my doom-delight, after not going to "home" for Hyne knows how long, I was subreptitiously ambushed by no other than my beloved Benetton store. I guess I keep falling and falling for it. It is simply inevitable. The Sun rises at East, sets at West and I will always be seduced by Benetton. Some things are simply the way they are. It was the haphazardly breath of the new collection setting in, still awkwardly pushing out the past one, with racks of green skattered, sensual, suggestive with soft cotton spilling in messed up piles, shades hanging here and there more in a hectic mix of textures, than a progressive order of any sort. It wasn't a store, it was a closet. The sweater you took off yesterday in a hamper of tops and blouses you didn't care folding, just fisted into the shelve, pushed it deep and hoped it won't fall on your head when you open the closet door again.

I was late, as I said earlier, and I still wanted to check Argento, as I am looking for a new silver ring to take the place of my Nibelung ring, and I really had to hurry, but hey, if Shimmy where there he would give me a call, right? Besides, I wasn't going to buy anything. I was just... going to check out the merchandise. That's quick and there's nothing wrong with it. And these are the lies us addicts tell to ourselves. I gave myself rules: I would only check out the green stuff. Just the green. Oh, I kept that one. I thought of the office, and so discarded a lot of informal, thin, tiny tops and skirts that wouldn't make the cut in a serious environment. Some made me laugh, truth to be told, and sneering I noticed the Sisley label on it. And some people consider Sisley the "elegant brand". Suuuuure. Collection after collection, Sisley constantly strikes me as the "dumby, trashy little sister of Benetton". Uneven hems, large, sparkly prints, lots of beads and rhinestone and such. Not me for sure. I was reaching the end of the rack and I was delighted: there was not a single piece for me in the rack, so I could turn around, walk out and keep the virtue of my card.

You never underestimate the power of the Store.

At the very end there was this awesome wool dress, knee long, perfect cut and amazing as a top layer over pants, worn as a sweater. And it was on a mindblowing discount. Okay, I would try it on, and perhaps, perhaps it wouldn't fit. Yes, only that by the dressers there was this oncoming, new collection green dress that was just too perfect to leave. No price on it, so it could be a very, very unpleasant surprise. I had to try it on. Why do I do that? It's Benetton! Of course it's gonna look awesome! You never, never try on a Benetton piece if you are trying to quit. Everytime it's gonna look like a banking bailout on you: so good it's immoral and should be ilegal as well. Trying it on IS buying it. And the worse thing? I actually stayed within my rules: only green. So I set another rule for myself: IF the dress goes over $120, I won't buy it. Mentally I tried to push up the limit up to $200 - $250. The pro argument convincingly said that the card was squicky clean, and the amount could easily be covered with the next paycheck, but still, I nailed my resolution to $120. It was far less. Tricked again.

So I did the old move and slid the gold, and walked out with a bagful of luscious, fresh green.

Thanks Hyne there wasn't a single decent ring at Argento.

Shimmy and I met at our favorite crèpe place, and chatted away. Got updated on gossip both on old acquintances as well as the Twitter entourage and latest activities and followed twitters. We dissected people and personalities, found an application to the deductions I've pulled from my musings on Nin and again made an effort to understand the collective and individual mind of the surroundings in which we have been plunged. Some book flirting then next door, coyly looking at covers and spines, letting ourselves be seduced by backcover words, let the flirt unroll and then hold or decline. We submitted to the clutching dependance of the printed word and grabbed our poison from the shelves. My new additions includes a novel by Elizabeth Kostova, author of "The Historian", and an "Ars Magica" of sorts that caught my attention. Books on witches always get to me. Oh goodie, even more books to carry over seas.

This time around, Shimmy was quite disperse, intensely enthralled by the potential #twittertour developing under our feet, at the lower level in Hooligans, were he identified at least three twitters he admires. His rushing, his running, my waiting. But I had my Benetton and a new book to read.

Thin Shimmy is still as engaging as Thick Shimmy, but he is far less focused.

Oh well, until next time.