Shout Out

As discussed earlier, I do not do well with Christmas lists. Every year it gets harder and harder to think of things I need. But that being said, I'm not going to pretend that I don't benefit from the generosity of others.

Today's post is dedicated to one such gift, from one such person. The person in question is my mother in law, Trish. First, let it be said that Trish brings her A game to the whole gift-giving enterprise. From the first year Michael and I were dating, she's consistently blown me away. One year was a fluffy green angora scarf, the exact borderline snot color I love most in all the world. Another year was pink pajamas. The day before our wedding, she and Katie (my sister in law) gave me some tiny green studs that are among my favorite earrings of all time. (Pink and green are my total sweet spots. And lavender. In fact, I own so much of all three that sometimes I have to go out and buy a couple hundred dollars worth of neutral pants and tees, just to be able to leave the house without looking like a walking Juicy Couture* handbag.)

Okay, but here's the subject of today's post: The little black jacket.

Trish and Greg lived in California for about a year, back when Michael and I were still long distance dating. When we were preparing to move out to LA, she warned me that I might need a little something to protect myself from the evening chill. And she was right. But did I listen? No, I did not.

Long story short, Christmas of 2005, I get the perfect lightweight black jacket. Not too heavy, not too light. Cut perfectly. Looks great.

I wear that jacket constantly these days, as the daylight grows shorter and a brisk 58 degree chill settles over the city around 3 p.m. (Don't laugh. You'd be cold too if you'd been living at a continual 70 F for six months and then the temperature dropped 10 degrees. Okay, I'm a wuss. So what?)

I am not always a perfect correspondent. I am notoriously tardy with my thank you notes. But if I could, I would write a thank you note every day to Trish, letting her know how much I love this little black jacket.

*And now, to redeem myself from a hopelessly sentimental post: I hate Juicy Couture. First, because the name itself is reedonkulous--in fact, is there anything less Couture than Juicy Couture? Yes, I know what they mean. It's about the idea of couture, not the reality. But there's a world of difference between gay black vogue teams calling themselves "House of Dior" and "House of Chanel", and a pair of giggling fashionistas calling themselves "Juicy Couture." It's like the "gorgonzola cheese" I once found on a Panera Bread Co. salad. Apparently the menu writer just liked the sound of "gorgonzola cheese," because what was on the salad was not only not gorgonzola, it wasn't even recognizably cheese,

Second reason to hate Juicy Couture: They take the three greatest colors in the world--pink, leaf green and lavender-and hein'em up beyond all recognition.