In Love (aka: All I Want for Christmas is this Gorgeous Stuff I Don't Really Need)

I have just discovered the J. Peterman Catalogue.

I know. I know. I should realize that I have known about this since the 1980s, thanks to Seinfeld.

But here's the thing: while I knew that "Elaine Benis" worked for a guy who actually in real life had a catalogue full of luxury products described in impossibly purple prose, I never bothered to look at the catalogue.  And then, the other day, one arrived in the mail.

And I fell in love with this dress

And this coat

And this skirt

And this blouse

 And then I realized that there is a prerequisite to owning thousands of dollars of such luscious clothing (other than the bank account): I need a fancier life.  A life in which I need beaded flapper dresses and opera coats or sexy, silky halter-backed tops...a life that still has sweet, small children in it, but that is centered in some major city, with the time and connections to take advantage of all manner of sartorial elegance.

I don't have such a life. And I don't need such clothes. But, oh, isn't it a lovely holiday fantasy that there is a party somewhere, for which an engraved invitation with my name on it is about to be mailed, and to which I will need to wear something magnificent? Something with the alluring swish of beaded fringe...

Ah...