Now that temperatures in New York are tiptoeing towards a tentative 70 degrees, I am tempted to pack away my winter accessories. I will keep a few scarves to wear during the summer, so my separation with neckwear won’t be too difficult. Hats mash my bangs, happy to be rid of them. Which brings us to…. gloves.
I have never liked things on my hands. Most of my mitten memories involve getting wisps of wool in my mouth while I tried to eat snowballs. I bought a pair of fancy Italian leather gloves during college and stained them irreparably with sloshed coffee. They didn’t really fit correctly anyway. The palms were too loose and the fingers too short. The seams were too… seamy. The cuffs too wrinkly. Whoever created the phrase ‘fits like a glove’ must have been a professional wrist model because none of the ones in my life, well, did.
I visit anthropologie.com to buy some wedding gifts. Now. I bet you know at least one woman who is not-secretly obsessed with this store. The prices are Himalaya-high, but those designs…. ahh. I am lost for words. I don’t know how that store knows what I’ll like (since I have rather eclectic taste), but it does. From the mismatched kitchenware to the floral bedding and silky shirt-dresses, they know me. During my last visit I even found that they sold the perfume I wrote about a few weeks ago. Now they know my scent as well! It’s incredible.
So. The web site glowed before me. I couldn’t resist the urge to use my browser to, well, browse. And there they were. White leather scrolled with beautiful floral design and green vines. Lined with cashmere.
More than $100. I snapped my laptop shut.
For two months, the gloves haunt me. They are fantastic, but so expensive and fancy. I’m not sure my heart or hands are in it. I try to be rational. I don’t even wear gloves.That’s too much money to spend on an accessory anyway, especially something I may not use. But there they are, little sugar plum fairies for my fingers. Dancing, dancing…
After trips to three different Anthopologie stores, I discover the gloves are only sold online. This is problematic because they’re sold in sizes, and I don’t know if my hands were medium or large. (Society always finds a way to remind you that you’re not XXS, even if you’re just measuring your knuckles.) I decide to buy both sizes and return the pair that don’t fit. With enormous anticipation of gratification, I enter my credit card number. The feeling lasts until I get an email saying the gloves are backordered.
They arrive! I consider tying a pink balloon to my mailbox. They are beautiful. And I am a perfect medium! They are beautiful. The gloves go with everything I own and best of all — they go with me. I quickly pack the larger pair, mail them back, square myself with my bank account and hit the streets. Life is beautiful…. until I lose them.
They must have fallen out of my purse somewhere between the subway and my office. (Or some thief is walking around with the most beautifully covered sticky fingers.) In my pain and rage, I try to buy another pair online. They are sold out. I re-visit all three Anthropologie stores. No luck. I mass-email my friends, telling with minimal tears the story of my wonderful lost gloves.
And finally, one gritty day, someone finds a pair in a small basket under a stack of clothing in one of the stores. They are purchased for me, and I gladly repay my friend, not even wincing when I realize I’ve spent 6 months and more than $200 on these gloves….
Now that we’re inching away from winter, I find that I’ll miss wearing my gorgeous gloves. But I’m glad to know they’re safely packed away until the next time it snows. Life is far less stressful when the only thing on my fingers is polish.