I am a 34 year old mother of three.
I do not wear short skirts or tight dresses.
I wear a lot of loose, black things that hide the results of a life of excess and indulgence and child bearing/rearing.
If you’ve been following the blog lately, then you’ll know that the past few days have offered me some rather hefty blows to my sense of safety and self esteem.
Aside from feigning the tough girl attitude, my annoying and ongoing lack of self esteem has threatened to swing me into a bit of a tail spin.
Luckily, I am married to a perfect, sweet, romantic – who will not stand for my (or his) days being affected by negativity or pouting.
“Get up, we’re going to have some fantastic coffee. After that, let’s go see Evita’s tomb and go shopping.” Was this morning’s plan as we yawned and stretched our way out of bed after a brilliant and prolonged night of rest.
So off we went.
Despite telling you all I hadn’t given the whole ordeal another thought, I’ve been mumbling to myself and scuffing along staring at the footpath and feeling small and round and loud and generally uncool.
We made it to Recoleta and managed to see Eva Duarte’s tomb up close in between swarms of cruise ship tourists.
Then we went to the mall.
Malls in Argentina are similar to malls in NZ or the states or Australia or Canada or anywhere. There are thin, well groomed and utterly disinterested store girls standing around looking bored and avoiding eye contact by examining their nails while you scan the racks for the item that you desire.
We managed to find one store with an enthusiastic sales girl who was kind and helpful.
Her Spanglish was not great and our EnglishyEspanole was inarguably worse.
We managed to arrange for me to try on two dresses and LOW AND BEHOLD one actually looked good. Despite the fact it was small, and tight and my boobs were several sizes too big for it, my husband’s appreciative ogles convinced me to get the dress.
Chaos ensued when it came time to pay.
Our credit card would not work on the machine, so we ended up using the last of our american money to purchase the dress at a terrible exchange rate.
I traded in my black wool skirt and flowy black top for the dress in the dressing room and away we went.
In the short walk from the mall to the ATM (where we went to get money to avoid the confusion that had ensued when attempting to purchase my new dress) I was ogled twice and winked at once, all whilst holding hands with my husband who beamed to have such a tight little hottie on his arm.
The cab driver also had a nice look and after Steve left the cab, was kind enough to raise his eyebrows in a lascivious manner and say: “Muy Bonita.” Thank you Mr. Cab Driver.
The truth is, I don’t hold a candle to the beautiful women here in Argentina, or probably most of the world. But today, even for a short while, I feel young and hot and free to take on the world with my husband at my side.
So bring it on.
Blog again soon.