ReTRo HouSeWiFe

NIKKI’S LONG AWAITED RETURN TO NORDSTROM'S

(Or, how the great white whale of retail was finally was bested by a large raise in store credit and a return to the lifestyle and questionable values of a size twelve.)

Sometimes tooling through cyber-Nordstrom's is too much of an adventure for the recovering shopping addict. I have discovered that a wonderful way to indulge myself without loosing my cool, my money, my sense of financial security and any sense of self respect is to restrict myself to one level of Nordy’s at a time.

So, this last Tuesday I started with the first floor. Simply recite benedictions to the underground parking gods and before you can roll down your window and scream, “I was waiting for that spot you lump of *%&$#!!!” you will see the tail lights of some Mercedes light up as if in invitation, and your parking karma has smiled upon you as you pull into a spot right next to the beautifully mirrored and carpeted Nordstrom's entrance way. You will find this place of proximity very important when it comes time to depart.

One push of the elevator button, just enough time to check lip-liner and hair, and the doors open unto make-up and accessories, such as shoes, handbags, sunglasses and jewelry. The Michael Kors handbag I paid for over the phone last week is quietly waiting in a drawer, awaiting her new owner, and her supple leather is hardly disappointed as we meander through shoes, both teenybopper and fancy-schmancy women’s department. And after deciding that three pair are enough, I discard the pair that makes me want to plant bougainvillea and having rid myself of the pair of stilettos domesticus, I head back over to the elevators, but slowly now, slowly; I am in search of my teenage skin.

Clinique falls behind me, Lancome, “bourgeois” I think to myself, and its not until I get to the Clarins and Chanel that I slyly slather my face and under-eye area with moisturizers costing $100’s per bottle. There is also a rough left elbow that gets special attention. I pump $40.00 of eye serum into my greedy paws and slather it on the upper half of my face and I can feel the years slipping away. As I have been doing this for a good ten minutes now, as I move on to layer two, eye moisturizer, I feel little guilt as no vapid counter girl has asked if I need help, which surely would have goaded me into a purchase. So, exfoliated and collagen filled, I push the down arrow on the elevator, grab my heavy parcels, and thank the goddesses of beauty that my parking karma was so damn obliging, because I am pooped and would not be able to walk far to my car, and I don’t think they would believe that brain tumor story again and bring out the little cart for me.

I hope you took notes; Tomorrow I bravely make a foray into designer duds.