When I was little, I had an antique vanity in my bedroom - the curvy, swirly kind with lots of drawers and a fancy mirror. Mostly, I used it to display my bottle of Love's Baby Soft, store toys, and write coded letters to my best friend. When I grew up and moved out, I attempted to take my beloved vanity that had been mine for almost 20 years. I didn't think about it really, I just assumed it was mine. However, my mom said, "NO. That's MINE." Why? Because she's kind of a bitch, that's why.
|Here is a picture of my mother. You may recognize her from film. I also wrote a book about her.|
Gasp. No vanity. Every girl needs one and I was relegated to balancing my shitty Loreal makeup on a faux-marble bathroom sink like some sort of fucking plebeian (typing that made me laugh.) Without a vanity, reproducing my dreamy 1930's Hollywood Starlet boudoir was kind of impossible. I could always buy a new one but it requires the perfect storm of finding one I like and having the wad of cash to buy it. (Translation: I'm lazy.)
Anyway, I'm kind of tired of my surroundings: beige walls, ivory matelasse bedspread and a buckling computer desk from Target that's warped because of beer condensation and coffee spills. Being in a house filled with men has made me put anything girly and feminine away. I want a vanity so I can be pretty and put on makeup and play dress-up for at least a couple minutes a day. But I know fantasy is not reality.
This is what I'm imagining:
But this is probably closer to reality:
|I'm 2 prescriptions and 3 cats away from being THAT lady.|
But let's pretend for a second that I'm more of the Jean Harlow type and my kids don't break everything they touch. This is what I want:
|Lady Buxton Jewelry Box.|
|Jean Harlow's Vanity Set.|
|A pink princess phone. So people can call me while I'm sitting at my mirrored vanity and I can say, "Hi. No I'm not too busy. Just putting some fake eyelashes on and getting ready for bed."|
|Fifi Chachnil Marabou Slippers. Something tells me that these are glamorous in theory, but after clacking a couple steps on my wood floor, these will be kicked off tout de suite.|
|Annick Goutal's Grand Amour.|
|And when I get tired of staring at myself in the mirror, I want a pink typewriter nearby so I can write my novel/screenplay.|
Did you get all that? My birthday is in October. Merci in advance.