Buon Pascua
Easter always reminds me of discomfort. The moveable feast was always a day where I had to wear uncomfortable tights, always a little too short for my legs, restricting my movements in their itchy, artificial-fibery way. To go along with the tights, I always had an awesomely awkward outfit.
What first comes to mind is the year my mother created outfits for my sister and me that included mint-green dresses printed with smal white lambs, and headbands with mesh poufs. It was Laura Ingalls meets Madonna. And not the Mother of God Madonna, but the cone-bra-wearing, Poppa Don't Preach Madonna. {Meggie, if you can find a photo of that Easter to post, DO IT for the love of GOD. Or for the love of whatever you hipsters worship. Indie rock? Veggie burgers?}
Of course, there was always this Easter, where I wore the outfit that my grandparents had sent me from their vacation in San Francisco.
If the colors throw you into a seizure or cause temporary blindness, I apologize. Please note, however, that I am wearing WHITE TIGHTS. What you don't see is that over the white tights, I am wearing neon orange socks and black flats. And if you're wondering what the shirt says, it reads "Italian Boys."
My first Easter away from home was spent in Lucca, Italy during the Spring Break of my semester abroad in London. That Easter was where I first met my Italians, where I first drank a straight shot of espresso, and where I first sat at a table of people I couldn't speak to. We ate like hell-ass bitch kings. A whole lamb was cooked in their wood-burning oven. Roast veggies and cakes and wine and wine and wine. A whole room full of Italian strangers insisting that I "MANGIA." A senile grandfather accusing me of having affairs with all of his sons, then extolling of the virtues of Mussolini's Italy.
Today is my second Easter away from home. There was no Easter basket and there will be no egg hunt. But the Easter Bunny did bring my flowers and I made him some pancakes. As for a feast, we did split a bag of peanut M&Ms. Happy Easter, bitches.
thank god you can finally eat M&M's you were starting to get moody. I had given up cofee for lent and today i drank my first cup and remembered that i dont really like it that much anyway. I think i came up with the idea when i got a coupon for a free coffee from McDonalds and, and wanted to use it so badly thought to myself "this would be the perfect thing to give up for lent" so at least i can use coupons now too.
Frankly, this mother bashing has GOT TO STOP. First, I get slammed for loud scarves, and now for the inhuman crime of actually making, with my own two hands, an Easter outfit. OK, so I did overdo the tulle on the headband. Mistakes were made. But the intention was pure.
There's no bashing of the mother going on. As we say in our family, mistakes were made. But what good is a family without a little bit of bad mothering? I friggin love you anyway.
One easter, I wore a "Miami Vice" suit. White suit, teal shirt underneat... I don't remember if I rolled up the sleeves or wore socks. I didn't know what Miami Vice was, except that my parents watched it, and Miami Mice on Sesame Street was somehow involved.
What is it with Easter that the other holidays don't get? My (and my sister's cuz we HAD TO MATCH) Easter dresses were either puffy or puffier. AND, our hair was either curly or curlier with burn marks from the curling iron on our foreheads. (Why insist on curling the hair of a child that can't sit still?)
Anyway, I believe those matching dresses all ended when a pair of white tights, that so perfectly matched the baby-blue and white polka-dot dress, resulted in a temper-tantrum.
HAPPY EASTER!