During the winter of 2012, I was most near skinny. I had been sick for eight months and lost about seventy pounds. Deciding to live it up a little with my new, rather nice figure, except of course for the hugh basketball-sized belly caused by the hernia that was making me sick, I went on a bling fling, even bought winter boots. The big thing on my new style was a bling-ring, a one inch diameter silver floral shape with a dang-ly piece on it. When I moved my hand just so, it almost seemed like I was ringing a bell. Fascinating!
My family egged me on. Only young once they said – at 78 years I agreed that I would never be any younger. I began dreaming of a spring fling which might include three rings. Wear them all at the same time. Maybe colorful shapes like daisies even or maybe I could find a poinsettia even that winter. It was true I would never be any younger, so go for it.
Now my problem. Where would I go? Certainly I wasn’t going to flaunt my new image at church or at work. And I always run into someone I know at Walmart. Where else did I go? Oh, yes, I needed to get cash from the bank – the ATM machine. That was safe. So I went. That made one time I had been out with my boots and bling-ring. Safe so far.
My sister, Karen, came to join me in a shopping trip. Needed new clothes – remember I was wearing a size that let me go anywhere I wanted to. (My only hold back was that I had to have skirts the size and shape of a basketball net.) I assure you didn’t darken the door of Woman’s World or Lane Bryant. I did wear my boots, but couldn’t handle the bling-ring. It would be seen as I sorted the hangers with my hands.
She stayed over night; we went to IHOP next morning. No boots, no bling-ring.
Deep disappointment to my sister, but her styling, blinging sister had just flung her bling-ring-thing-fling.
(I wonder if I still have that ring. I’ll never be any younger than I am today.)
Prompt “memories” by Cage Dunn