Dressing up

When I was little I played dress-up in my mother's clothes, as most little girls do. In the house where I grew up, my mother had a dressing room off the bedroom she shared with my father. It had her desk and a dressing table, a chaise lounge, and two walk-in closets. Heaven. I escaped there whenever I could, riffling through Mom's jewelry, accessories, clothes, perfume. She had it all. Gorgeous suits for work (power red). Evening gowns. Silk blouses. Tall boots. Massive cans of hairspray (AquaNet). Huge, sparkly rings. Sweater sets from her college days -- cashmere with delicate beading. Fancy perfume decanters. There was a sparkly pair of strappy gold high-heeled sandals I put on every time I played dress-up. In those days my mom always wore heels. I'd strap on those heels, sling a gold chain belt around my waist, hook her gold mesh bag over my arm, and sit at her dressing table putting on rouge and bright green eyeshadow and Chanel no. 5. It was 1982. And now? Gold shoes, gold chain belt, gold mesh bag, green eyeshadow.