Maybe because I've been thinking of the important friends that disappeared from my life without a word.
Maybe because I've been thinking about Marchesa dresses.
But whatever the cause, nothing could have prepared me for a message from my original best friend. Actually, make that the first and last person I have ever labelled 'best friend'. Till today, there has not been anyone with whom I have sacrificed over, bled over, cried over, fought over as much I did for her. We were incredibly tight and absorbed into each other, unhealthily. We had a massive falling out a few years back, scarring us, transforming us, leaving us looking like relatives of Quasimodo. The ugly ones. Any attempts to right the wrongs exposed feelings of resentment and bitterness lingering beneath a paper skin surface. Silently, we both agreed that we needed time away from each other. Still, we maintained a very distant connection through facebook (as in we were both on facebook, and thats about it) and barely speaking as we went on with our separate lives.
She sent me a message telling me that she's getting married. And not getting married in the spirit world sense, or having some lesbian witch wave over her and her girlfriend with a stick. No, she was getting married to a man who was naturally born a male, with all the expected parts.
I guess with the history between us, I expected to scoff and make some sarcastic remark about switching from a hen to a rooster, a taco to a burrito. Instead, I found myself elated. Trust me, I am just as surprised. I sped off a giddy reply, congratulating her and wishing her well. Its strange, but I was no longer bitter anymore over what had happened. It was as if finding out that she was going to enter a happy chapter of her life washed it all away.
Well, it lasted for a solid five minutes before my usual panic about ohmygodIhavenothingtoshowformylifewhileothershavecareersmarriagechildrenohmygod!
T'was expected. So now if you will excuse me, I'm going to huddle in a dark corner while my mind runs through the ages and names of famous bloggers/designers/fashion journalists who are either younger than me, or started out on their career paths so much earlier in their life that I will never be able to catch up.
To soften the horror that is catching hold of me quickly right now, feast on some photos of the bags that Sofia Coppola has designed for Louis Vuitton. In my opinion, one of the nicest collaborations so far. All right then, I'm off to obsess.
(PS: Sofia Coppola was 15 when she interned with Chanel. Someone slit my wrist now.)