Grown-Up Things

There is a lady who lives downstairs and every time I see her outside, she looks like she's coming from a magazine photo shoot. She has sleek brown hair and dresses very nicely. All of the time. Even on weekends when she's in leggings and a sweatshirt, she looks put together and classy.

Inevitably, when she's going to work or returning home in her professional ensemble, I am out chasing after Mal. Maybe I've put make-up on by 5:30 PM, maybe I haven't. My hair NEVER looks that shiny and board straight, even if I use the straightener (which I've done exactly twice since Mal was born), even though my hair IS board straight... because in the Austin humidity, it manages to be both straight AND wiry and kind of foofy.

It almost reminds me of a description of Fleur Delacour from "Harry Potter," where her light dims the people around her (except for on her wedding day <3 ). Like it could be a commercial for shampoo or some kind of anti-depression drug where I'm the before and this breezy lady is the after.

I'm only halfway serious about this. It doesn't make me feel "less" or anything. I do comfort myself in the idea that this woman has only a six-year-old stepdaughter who visits every other weekend and while that's a whole thing all to itself and one I'd rather not do, it's still not 24/7 kid need, amirite? Well, plus we're not in competition. I doubt she's thinking, "Good lord, old lady, give up much?" Or maybe she is. Fortunately, I don't care.

I point this out because it reminds me of something else.

For most of my life, I've been "poor" or, at the best, on the lower level of middle class. It's always been apparent, not just to me, but to others, too.

When I was in junior high, we saved up and I finally got a Coke shirt. I wore the that shirt a *lot* because I loved it and I loved how it looked. One girl who sat behind me in English (and who wore Guess jeans every day) said, "You don't like that shirt, do you? I can tell because you never wear it." Clearly, since I remember those words 30 years later, they stuck. I thought about that every time I wore the shirt (though I have pictures of myself wearing it well into high school, so maybe once I got away from her, I wasn't as self-conscious).

Later, when I was in college and my sister was still in high school, we were out on a Saturday and I wanted to get a picture of Van Buren from the bridge that went over the Arkansas River, We had parked my car at Sonic, I think, and were walking out on the thin pedestrian strip (if there is one; maybe what we were doing was illegal) as cars zoomed past us. At some point, we realized we were both wearing our old, beloved, beaten-up Swatch jackets. We'd had them for years. Something about our trying to walk to the middle of a busy highway bridge in faded old coats while people honked at us made us laugh. We started yelling, "We're poor!" at every car that passed. It made sense at the time.

It's interesting... I don't think I ever remember feeling too "less than" in Las Vegas. That was the first place I lived where most people didn't seem to give a rip how you were dressed. When I moved to Texas, it wasn't that anyone made me feel like I wasn't as shiny as everyone else, but I could tell. I have one of the cutest pictures of Daphne sitting on a hand chair outside of Spencers at the mall (when that used to be a thing in Sherman), and at the time, all I could think was that we were both dressed straight outta Goodwill, and I hated it.

So, fast forward to now... Now, I'm firmly entrenched in the middle class. I could afford nice clothes, jewelry (I have some, but it's mostly Mal's playstuff now; I hardly ever wear any of it, and most of it is pretty old and tarnished), and other things to clean up my act. But I don't. I don't appear any better off than I did when I was a kid, but apparently this isn't a priority to me.

I've been thinking about that a lot lately, as my mother and I were discussing recently the fact that I've never had a "grown-up" set of matching living room furniture. My first apartment was furnished, then straight out of college, I bought a patio set for my living room. I loved being able to swing in my couch! After that, the local newspaper or Craigslist has been my go-to for furniture, and now we have a couch that used to belong to James' grandma.

Every house I've ever lived in, except maybe for the first time we lived in our house in Las Vegas, has looked kind of like a college kid's home because I get the bare minimum I need to survive and since that works, I'm never in any hurry to "upgrade" it. We have a king-sized bed, upsized when we moved and realized Mal would be with us for a while. But we have no head board; nothing but a frame to keep it off of the ground. You've seen my duct-tape job on the Ikea chest we got from some friends, and then a couple of weeks ago, I got a blue chest (real wood!) for free from the Buy Nothing South Austin group I'm in on Facebook. Those things don't match, but I have an answer for that!

The other day, I was walking out to the mailbox and there was a beautiful captain's chair sitting out by the dumpster. Wood with blue cushions. Heavy. Substantial. Also reeking of cigarette smoke. I carried it up to the apartment, put it on the patio, dusted it, Febreezed it, and it's almost aired out enough to put in our bedroom where, voila!, it will bring everything together. Right?

See? I'm a 43-year-old grown-ass woman who got a random chair from the dumpster area of our apartment complex.

I don't think it matters how much money my husband (or I) makes. I don't know that we'll ever have a living room "suite." Or a custom-made "corner curio cabinet" that we paid someone $6000 to make. (Yes, I know someone who did this... to each his own.)

I like everyone else's pictures on Facebook, where their kids are dressed for prom or first day of school and they're standing in front of a fireplace and there are legit pieces of furniture in the shot, and, you know, nice drapes and whatnot. I would totally move into a furnished place like that; I just don't do it myself.

The other day, I was getting excited thinking about a house we'll eventually buy, and I looked on Flor.com (didn't realize there was a store here in Austin, but will definitely go check it out soon!). Love their stuff, and how customizable it is. But, dang it, it's $18 a square! Will I ever get over being so cheap that I think, "Well, it's totally worth that. Let's have fun in each room!"?

Which reminds me... James is totally on the same page as I am. We were talking the other day about the fact that some of our towels look a little sad. But they dry stuff off, which means they work. So we don't *need* new ones. I'm glad he's not concerned with keeping up any kind of appearances. I don't think we would have worked very well together if that were the case.

So, is this a function of not having a lot growing up so I don't feel like I need it? (Incidentally, my parents have always had matching living room furniture... that they kept until it wore out, so we're talking four sets my entire life.) Or am I just lazy? I don't know. But when we get our house, I absolutely do want to get a 1980s dinette set with chairs on casters. Guess I need to keep an eye out on the vintage shops...