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Just
Be Indulgent...
By Kathleen Daelemans
Macy's
Inside Out "Sequin" Wedge Thong (not that kind
of thong), $18.00
My sister says I need to join FFA... Flip Flop Anonymous.
"You're addicted. It's a disease. You need
help," she told me at lunch. Never one to miss an opportunity
to give her opinion my mother chimed in, "The
sooner you admit it, the sooner we'll get to stop looking
at you in them. You're not 14 anymore Kathleen. Who
on earth wears rubber shoes with rhinestone studded hibiscus
flowers all over them at your age? No one wants to look
at your corns and bunions if that's what you're
thinking," she said to the back of my head as I excused
myself to go and use the restroom. I needed to reapply my
lipstick and the clumps of hair I'd ever so
discreetly pulled out of my head over dessert and coffee
with my tag-along fashion critics.
In a raised voice on the cusp of flat out hollering my Mom
called out, "And while we're on the subject, enough
with the gypsy skirts already. You're too old for them
too"
Feeling like Belle in Beauty and the Beast, I waltzed down
the hall admiring my reflection in every mirror. Okay, that's
a lie. Mostly, I'm thankful for these unsolicited critiques
from family members. On more than one occasion, they've
saved me from myself. They did initiate the end of the 80's
mullet I'd somehow let myself get talked into.
This time though, I didn't agree with them. I love
gypsy skirts and flip flops. I dress for myself. Not for
anyone else. I dress to feel good, to feel happy, to feel
pretty, to feel strong, to feel cozy—whatever the occasion
calls for. I don't care what anyone else thinks of
me except when I'm being made fun of, and then I'm
an insecure wreck. I can usually get past the wreck stage
in a few minutes but today I had to practice vodka yoga.
Breath in. Breath out. Relax. Breathe in, pliés,
note-to-self do not pick up potted plastic orchid on hall
table and hurl it at my baby sister who started it all.
Enter bathroom. Breath in, pliés, dosey-doe virtual
hidden fifth of vodka, breathe out.
Deep breath in, dab a little sweet plum gloss on top and
bottom lips, blot, breathe out. Deep breath in, spoon a
dollop of super glue here and there to repair spur-of-the-moment
bald spots, divide reserved previously yanked clumps of
hair evenly throughout irregularly bald head, breathe out.
Using a dampened towel, wipe smeared mascara from tender
under eye area, give thyself a once over, deep breath in,
breathe out. Perform a quick hospital hand-wash, exit bathroom.
Walk back to lunch guests and in a Grade A maple-syrupy
sweet voice, kiss everyone goodbye, thank them for their
company and leave.
Immediately engage in necessary therapy. There's no
reason to let anger or embarrassment or negative feelings
of any kind bleed over from one moment and or incident to
the next. Sometimes I journal, call a friend, take a quiet
time out, light a candle and take a hot bath. Okay, for
the most part, I never do any of that.
I find that shopping is a quick and to the point, deeply
gratifying curative. I keep my boo-hoo binges under twenty
bucks. For deep wounds, it's a 20 dollar prize or the
rest of the day off. For surface scrapes and scratches,
it's a 5 dollar maximum, dollar store field trip or
an hour off.
This time, I bent the rules went home straight home to my
computer and ordered a second pair of my favorite summer
'06 flip flops. I bought them in pink a month ago and
love, love, love them. I just ordered them in Turquoise.
They're sturdy, high enough to make my calves look
girly in my favorite summery gypsy skirts and they hit my
arches perfectly. As far as I can tell none of the be-dazzley
beads have fallen off. That's a lot of bargain for
$18 flip flops that when paired correctly can pass as a
legitimate pair of shoes. And finally, every girl knows
flip flops are the perfect excuse to have pedicures. So
there!
Coriander
& Olive Tree Repairing-Action Hand Butter by Cucina,
Fruits & Passion, $15.00
How I got to my current age of 20 something without discovering
Cucina's Repairing Action Hand Butter, I'll never
know. I have terrible problem with eww-gross er um hangnails
and mentioned this to yet another shopkeeper who of course
had the perfect cure all. She seemed very nice and
was incredibly passionate about her products.
There was a basketfull of cute little tubs of repair butter
in different fragrances at the check out. I couldn't resist
the tester. It smelled very nice, subtle and not too perfume-y.
I applied a generous amount on my hands concentrating mostly
on my cuticles. It went on non-greasy and soaked into my
skin right away. Within minutes it began to soften the rough
skin around my fingernails making them possible to trim
without number 10 pain.
Thinking about the retail value of the drawer full of "perfect"
cuticle therapies currently taking up valuable bathroom
cabinet space in my home (fours years of paid college tuition
for one of my nieces) and weighing the pros and cons of
the manicure I had scheduled for later that afternoon because
my cuticles were in such horrible shape they hurt. I decided
to spend the money on the little pot of miracle cream only
if the price was right. I wouldn't need manicures
except for special occasions if the product worked like
the promise it showed.
I wasn't willing to pay a dime more than fifteen bucks
for the product. I asked the price and low and behold, it
was fifteen bucks! I was thrilled. I bought a jar and keep
it in my purse. I use it religiously as in twice or so daily.
I've had little pot of it in my purse since the second
week of April and I've barely used half. I highly recommend
it if you've got kitchen or gardener's hands like
me.
Medjool
Dates
My second favorite food in the whole wide world is the Medjool
Date. To me, there is no snack more satisfying than a couple
of Medjool Dates and 5 or 6 whole toasted Walnuts. The dates
have a wonderful creamy texture and when paired with a few
nuts is the absolute perfect afternoon pick me up. The combination
of fiber, protein and natural sugar the two provide is just
the sustenance I need to make it home to whip up a super
healthy supper.
Junk snacks on the other hand, inspire my fingers to do
the walking and my waistline simply cannot tolerate Yellow
Page Cuisine any longer.
"Originally from Morocco, the Medjool Date was reserved
for royal hosts and other dignitaries. Centuries later,
in the 1920s, disease threatened the existence of the Medjool
Date in Morocco. In a radical move to save the Medjool,
the Sharif of Morocco gave the United States, 11 immature
palms to replant.
One place in particular that serves the palm very well is
the Bard Valley... Bard Valley now produces 70% of the Medjool
dates in the United States market... The date palm (Phoenix
Dactylifera) is known as "The Tree of Life" and
is a holy symbol to the Muslim people. The tree has had
many uses in the cultures of the Middle East. It provided
shelter, fuel, construction materials, materials for weaving
and basket making, and most importantly—food.
Dates are perhaps the oldest tree crop cultivated by man.
More than 5000 years ago this valuable tree helped sustain
the desert and nomadic peoples of the Middle East and North
Africa. Dates have been found in earthen jars in the tombs
of Pharaohs and Kings, so placed to give them sustenance
in their trip to the afterworld.
I get them from my local fruit market and they cost between
8 and 9 dollars a pound. I usually buy 7 or 8 at a time
and store them in a zipper bag in my freezer. When I'm
"starving," I take one out of the bag, remove
the pit, insert a walnut where the pit once was, squish
the date "meat" around the nut, eat and repeat.
Two is my limit. Dates have about 57 calories a piece and
zero fat, zero cholesterol and zero sodium. You can also
order them online all sorts of places including: http://www.medjooldates.com/store/
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