Pattern Repeating or A Reason to See You Again
This Week: Evince
If you missed last week’s newsletter, I am separating my monthly reading and reading-shaped thoughts from the regular newsletter and giving it its own space. In celebration, I made a burst cherry tomato and shaved fennel pizza. Book-It is alive and well in our house—read a book and get a pizza!
I had a dress I loved that I bought from Etsy right after grad school. It was cotton and it had pockets and the aqua, pink, and purple floral pattern lit up my brain because it felt like it was made especially for me and my life. Michelle wore it on the Eiffel Tower, I pulled it down off my shoulders to show off my collarbones in Austin while watching Phoenix with Jessica. I donated it after a string of bad vibes. I cannot stress this enough: how dare you embarrass me in front of my favorite dress? Please evaluate when and where you wear your favorite dress because you too may be driven situationally insane by the associated bad vibes and donate your favorite dress to the universe. My only hope was that someone my size got a score of a lifetime or someone turned the dress into a dog bed or curtains.
As clothing is increasingly worse and all of the colorways this season remind me of the couch in my den during high school, I am ransacking the secondary market to clothe my summer bod in something other than Eagles t-shirts and jorts. I am building my summer wardrobe that will keep me cool when the world wants to boil me whole like a glamorous frog. I had an idea: I used google image search to bring this long lost pattern back to me. The search yielded a few dead ends but then after several pages of scrolling, it appeared in a matching shirt and shorts set. I sent the Poshmark listing to Michelle for approval and then I waited for a good deal with my magic number in mind. The magic number appeared after a week and now the set lives with me. It makes me want to wear my camera around my neck and go on vacation forever.
After a mall walk in the area’s deadest mall with friends, I was convinced to buy several of these tank tops. The colors are nice, they’re thick but not heavy, they keep their shape, and I can tuck them or leave them out and be happy. Right now they’re less than $5 and if you’re looking for something to cover your top half for the warm weather, here you go.
Is your local mall dead? I watched this 27 minute long video about my mall being dead and I could not look away. I used to play with puppies at this mall in high school and it’s where I got my first Covid vaccine.
This Week’s Vocabulary List
A Reason to See You Again by Jami Attenberg
Evince (verb): to constitute outward evidence of; to display clearly: reveal
Shelly pops in unannounced to her sister Nancy’s house only to find her niece, Jess, and Nancy is nowhere to be found on a Friday night. Shelly works in the emerging field of mobile communications and everyone she knows is close at hand with their mobile phone except Margaret, who she communicates with by letter. Her relationship with Margaret defies simple explanation but the use of the post office and its reliability and physical form evinces emotionality.
The extra steps of writing and going to the post office to mail a letter to England reveals a larger truth about their relationship that has heretofore not revealed itself to me.
The reveal is right there but has not been named by Shelly or Margaret.
Writing a letter in this way makes me think of when I crochet gifts: I tied all of these knots because I love you. The smaller thing stands in for a much more significant message or idea.
I decided to get started reading this book to move me along with #1000wordsofsummer with Jami Attenberg’s words in my head. I’ve met her a few times at book readings and I love her reading voice. I can imagine it the same way I can imagine the voices of my favorite teachers and professors.
Minus this bullet point, this newsletter is 1430.
Practical Applications
I went to the dermatologist for an overdue body check after a referral went missing and I had other commitments, namely my commitment to not liking my dermatologist. The appointment really started with a full count with two outs. When I scheduled the appointment, I said that I am a size 14/16, will the paper robes work for me for the scan? I was satisfied with the answer but my Andrea instincts told me not to let down my defenses while seeking medical care. The full count baseball metaphor evinces how wrong I was to trust the person on the phone. Because I find these robes to be so embarrassing, I popped my own robe in my purse just in case. I was told it would be fine, so I thought I wouldn’t use it.
The appointment starts and I’m chatting with the loudest medical assistant on Planet Earth and she tells me how to undress for the check: put on the robe with the opening in the front, take my bra off, leave my underwear on and put this plasticized tablecloth on my lap if I want to be modest. She leaves the room and I reach for the robe and immediately my nails rip the shoulders. What is this thing made out of if it can’t handle the pressure of human fingernails? I shake out the folds and assessed the shape. I thought I could make it work. Sure I’d be uncomfortable, but only for fifteen minutes at most. I put the robe on and rip the back along the neckline and I can feel my temperature rising, evincing a primal rage. I can cover my chest, but not my stomach or hips, so then I take the modesty panel that could easily double as an IBX banner at the Broad Street Run. This is when I give up. At this upscale dermatologist’s office, the robe doesn’t fit but here’s 14 feet of paper to wrap myself in like a deli sandwich from hell.
The paper robe is assembled like a child’s interpretation of garment making, two sides glued together, unable to accommodate an actual human body. When the dermatologist entered the exam room, she said, “Oh, your robe, we’ll have to move it around if that’s ok.” Ok? This is your problem to solve, baby doll! You’re the one who wanted to do this exam in a technicolor dream coat made of post-its; you could have listened when I asked for an appropriate robe.
I was so mad that I scooped the robe into my purse and brought it home like it was a prized pelt. I measured it with a tape measure and it wouldn’t even fit the Andrea whose cocktail dresses are sitting in the back of my closet since three presidents ago. Let me be crystal clear, I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my body. I love my body! I must have missed that day in school, but I just don’t hate myself as much as society and my dermatologist want me to hate myself. A robe to cover a larger body should not be something anyone should have to request at any doctor’s office. My gynecologist has great robes. They’re pink flannel and somehow they’re always warm like they came out of the dryer. If the average size of an American Woman is between a 16 and an 18, that should be the smallest size they offer for these stupid robes.
What do you wish your doctor’s offices had to make your life slightly better? I wouldn’t mind a snack or a clearly labeled sign.
Love,
Andrea
Thanks for stopping by Vocabulary School!
Eagles t-shirts and jorts is a solid summer wardrobe. Does Phoenix still tour? We should absolutely see them again, you in the reincarnated dress like it’s our personal Era of Good Feeling all over again. Go Birds!