I was at a pop-up Halloween store in Annapolis this past weekend, visiting my favorite coffee shop in all of the state of Maryland -- Pronto, home of Ceremony Coffee Roasters and their award-winning espresso: "raisin aromatics...and clementine acidity"-- and I bought a pair of clown shoes, and a tutu. I already had a red clown nose. There are so many things you can do with a clown nose. Dog toy? Yes. And useful for lightening-up the stand-up meetings that, because I am freelance, I am the only one at. Then I dyed my hair gingerballs.
It's been a long week even though it's only Wednesday.
I redid my hair. Now it's just-hatched-chick yellow. It's an early Madonna vibe if I wear bangles and a crop top and appear fiercely Rage Against the Machine (if that link is du trop for you, here's an excellent clean-language college marching band version that rocks.)
My daughter, 7, said of the New Look, "Mom, I still recognize you," so that's encouraging. I'm still recognizable.
I don't dislike the look. Being in my 40s with two kids, Husb., and dog and chronic pain in the suburbs, I have this sad clown thing going on, a kind of Linda Evangelista meets RuPaul "full catastrophe" as mindfulness meditation teacher Jon Kabat-Zinn calls it. So in addition to clown shoes and tutu, I got face paint for Halloween to draw on a droopy sad mouth under which I plan to smile. It's the water that I swim in.