Af-FUR-Mation

A little more than a week ago, I found myself revisiting our favorite hospital, this time with a head situation of my own...a massive sudden, crippling ache (which in the end was relatively benign in and of itself but it unfortunately merited some serious tests-including a lumbar tap-to arrive at that conclusion. And the invasive spinal poke apparently resulted in the nasty side-effects that necessitated several subsequent return trips to treat my nausea and a series of even worse headaches). During my many turns in the ER, I did encounter a number of cool doctors and nurses, a few of which I found greatly fascinating and entertaining. There was Leviticus, our good-looking, young and free-spirited ER nurse who shares the same name with our only son (though ours is simply, "Levi"); Darren, my super-groovy "headache concierge" who appeared out of nowhere in our darkened room and talked me through the headache sequence in a voice as smooth and easy as Barry White (so smooth, in fact, I had to double-check with Kevin to ensure he was not an apparition); and, finally, Marylin, an old bohemian granny who was upbeat, humorous and a little too candid about her own health woes(Turns out she suffers from "dumping syndrome").
But the hospital shenanigans are really not the point of this blog. I would like to mention, though, that each of the aforementioned medical professionals received a "WOW" card, which is sort of like a restaurant comment card except you can only fill these cards out for exceptional service. The cards provide a diversion from the pain and are the closest thing to "fun" that exists while waiting to be discharged, although attempting to guess why the poor soul next door is screaming in agony and why no one can find him any morphine does help to pass the time.
The POINT of this blog does have to do with the fact that my ER nurse with dumping syndrome loved, loved LOVED my bunny fur, which launched quite a conversation that would have had anyone listening in roll on the floor in stitches.
I have been rocking said bunny fur this winter since my black wool Kenneth Cole coat went out on a three-week fashion parade that culminated in a look that said "I spent weeks on end rolling around in a dog house and I think it's perfectly ok and even quite respectful to show up for social gatherings draped in fuzz, food, and filth."(even though I was never in contact with an actual furry animal or its dinner).
Out of desperation, I visited the basement for an alternate coat and turned up with the celebrated vintage long black fuzzy bunny fur I purchased years ago at an estate sale for $5 but had not been in circulation for the past few winters.
As Marylin and I discussed, the coat made me either feel super glam and stylish (when paired with the right pieces) OR like a total bag lady. The bag lady feeling was the more common, especially when the coat was employed to top off my school-morning car-line ensembles. She was in full agreement and, despite the fact that it has a missing patch of fur on the right arm AND the fact that I ripped a giant tear in the left sleeve seam when reaching over the backseat to hand a stuffed elephant to Levi...assured me that the bunny was in fact super-fab and probably worth about $500. She then proceeded to tell me about each of her five fur pieces to the point that I decided I was not only going to continue wearing my bag-lady sophisticate bunny...I was also going to add more crazy fuzzy pieces to my cache.
My taste is offbeat to say the least, but I know it gives the PTA moms (though not the PETA moms) a giggle when I roll into the school parking lot each morning in my "car-line" clothes. The straight truth is you just never know what you're gonna get.
Kevin and I are both hoping that Stacy and Clinton (and the rest of the TLC crew) are secretly filming us. Sometimes I add extra special touches just in case...because wouldn't it be grand if they awarded one of us with a $5,000 credit card and a trip to NYC?
Like, for instance, I LOVE to set off the fur with a pair of knee-high Frye boots and whatever old T-shirt and baggy yoga pants I happened to be wearing the night before. To finalize the look, I can usually be seen sans make-up, sans bra and sporting a 1/2 up, 1/2 down ponytail that I haven't even bothered to comb since I rolled out of bed at the last minute in my usual mad morning rush.
I would like to say for the record that I would have a hard time letting go of many of my wardrobe items following Stacy and Clinton's assessment in the 3-way mirror. "Hippy Dippy Trippy" to them is "stylish bohemian ease" for me. No way am I letting go of my long patchwork hippie skirt, the bunny OR the white go-go boots I haven't had a chance to wear yet but am saving on the off chance I may someday fit back into my electric pink paisley Jackie O. style 60's sheath I bought on Haight Street in San Fran. And I will not let Nick cut my hair. Carmindy, however...is welcome to approach me with makeover tips. Makeup is easy to replace.
Kevin is a much more likely candidate for the show, since his wardrobe consists of a couple corduroy sports coats with patches on the elbows that he either purchased straight from Goodwill or stole from his father's closet...his infamous Rolling Stones "1/2 top" and various other rarities from the "too short old concert T-shirt collection" and several dilapidated button-ups in colors that do not flatter. Stacy and Clinton would have a blast with his year-round, all-occasion flip-flop array and the tiny spectacles with the loose screw that make him look not unlike a soft-spoken, near-sighted serial killer. C would have a heyday with his thick, busy blond brows (did you see the episode where she ripped the gal up and down for her hairy, overgrown "monkey" eyebrows?)I will physically harm Nick, though, if he tries to give Kevin another hair cut (Kevin has a bad habit of growing his hair out to an acceptable length and then sneaking off to the most ancient barber he can find to undo all that is good. At press time, I'd like to add, it is looking really nice...which is making me extra antsy).
As it turns out, the real likelihood is that Kevin and I will probably continue to put together half-baked looks until either a)Stacy and Clinton rescue us out of a ditch b) our numbers come in or c) the kids are grown and stage an intervention and/or become financially independent. Because everyone knows when you're raising five kids, your entire wardrobe must suffer at the expense of clothing the children. At least that's our rationalization! And as far as I know, Levi is the only one of the five who's ok with running around naked. Correct me if I'm wrong, children...I could use another bunny fur!
For now, I'll bask in the delusion that, like the old granny nurse with the dumping syndrome affirms, I'm flaunting a fabulous fur with double blowouts that makes me look like a million dollars even when I physically feel like I'm gonna puke on Kevin and my head is going to explode. That's exactly why she got herself a "WOW" card.