Friends are Fashionable

Getting all the girls together for a night out is like building a sand castle in the sky. Plan B: gather as many skirts together to see the movie. My skirt gang consisted of Jeeun, Angela, and Aussy, five weeks from babyville. As we cleverly decided “not” to make reservations on a Saturday night, we were faced with a 45 minute wait an hour and a half out from the movie. As Aussy is not privy to the power of her pregnancy, I advised that she stop concealing her roundness so we could play the pregnant card with the host. If carefully planned we could have the whole world eating out of her hands. Instead, we darted for a couple leaving their section at the bar, making sure any rivals that dared to swoop would have to go up against a wobbling woman that was starving for two. Twenty minutes and a frustrated server later, we were out the door to stand in line with our fellow skirts.

San Francisco was unlike any other metropolis as we were outnumbered 3-to-1 by gay men. Worse, they were dressed better. Gay men were, by code, snide little bitches. They had a way of making women feel fashionably inept, if appropriate, by a mere huff and sway of their manly hips. I didn’t receive such a stare, but they weren’t discreet with others.

“Man there’s a ton of guys here,” Aussy forgetting she resides in the city of sausage, “Why is that?”
“They’re gay Auss.” Angela and I chimed in synchronized response.
“Oh, but they’re so many of them?” The little one sucked the life from Aussy's rational cells.

“Cheers!” Jeeun and I clanked our paper cups filled with pedestrian espresso. To the left, a gaggle of amateur skirts sipped their plastic cups of soda inconspicuously filled with cosmopolitans. Judging by there behavior, they were straight from the burbs. A bag of buttered popcorn in hand and a big bottle of water, I couldn’t wait for the lights to dim. In the meantime, Jeeun aka Text Master 500 proceeded to configure my device for instant messenger feature. Her fingers triggered at lightening speed putting the coordinates together. Before I knew it, Text Master 500 had blackberry messenger up in a flash. As everyone knows, I have dodged the cell phone phenomena for years. I disliked the fact that I could be accessible by another's whim. Until one day my husband, unfortunately born with the terrible worry gene, bought me my first death phone, How does one dodge texting? Perhaps, cut off my fingers?

As the first two beats of the theme song started, the girlish screams from skirts and slacks alike filled Audotorium 7. The opening credit sequence gave way to an explosion of Manhattan street sophistication. The movie was a definite feel-good hosed with product placement. If you’re a fashion moron like me, "Sex and the City" proved to be no less than orgasmic. Proven horrid was the big labels that demanded the film. The best thing about the show was Bradshaw's wash up of dime store outfits.

As the show has proven it's influence, be certain that skirts around the world are scouring for a pair of Dior gladiators. I am guilty as charged.

Speaking of sex, it was pretty bare in comparison to the series. "Sex and the City" has delivered -as promised- a decent skirt flick perfectly predictable, but it was no "Steel Magnolia."

This evening has proven to be no more than absolute fun. I don’t get out much to the big screen much less with my skirtfriends. As I sat there laughing and smiling, I grew nostalgic for my fellow missing skirts. In my ever shifting life furnished with loving husband and son, and a social life that needs a proper tuning, I wonder if there will ever be a time where a date with all my skirts will be more often than a baby shower.

This is Shellie discovering that Pâte à Choux is not a fashion designer back to you Bob at the studio.