Mrs. Brady Shag
November 30, 2004
A paycheck arrived yesterday -- one that was desperately needed -- and after depositing it in the bank, I took a little cash out to treat myself to a nice meal. Nothing fancy, but substantial. Too many people have been asking me if I've lost weight recently. I never weigh myself, so I never know, but it's possible. Probable. Ramen Noodles for dinner every night has that effect.
As I was sitting at an outdoor table, enjoying my big, fat, ten-dollar, New York cheeseburger, a girl passed who I've seen at least three times in the past four days. She was easily recognizable because of the clothes she was wearing: A short, green jersey shirt-dress, cinched at the waist by a white vinyl belt. Its short length revealed her shapely, though a little dirty and slightly bruised, legs. Brown hair, cut in a Mrs. Brady shag (the later episodes), with a small piece in front dyed blond. Her nose was distinctive as well, the way it blended into her face as if it had been pinched and pulled from a plasticine head. And raccoon-style eye makeup looked like it had been painted on with a paint roller.
The whole look made me take notice -- the same way I had noticed her the previous three times. It was the same way I'd noticed her the previous three times because, well, she was wearing the exact same outfit. All except the shoes, which varied from white vinyl go-go boots the first time I'd seen her, to the well-worn patent-leather pumps she had on last night.
Anyway, it made me wonder about her. If there had been more than one or two days between the times I'd seen her, I might think it was purely a coincidence that I caught her on the days when she was wearing this ensemble, but as it was, it seemed that she wore it every day. She was talking on a cell phone as she passed, and I'd previously seen her eating brunch in a relatively expensive diner, so she wasn't dead broke. I'm sure she could afford other clothes. But was that the only outfit she owned? One dress, and a small variety of accessories? Or did she buy several of the same dresses in bulk? Maybe she simply knew exactly how awesome the whole thing looked and couldn't bear to wear anything else? I have no idea.
The girl had long since passed when the waiter brought me my check. I paid and walked past the other tables to the street. As I stood trying to decide what to do next, I looked down and noticed my dirty jeans. I'd been wearing them for about a week straight. The T-shirt I had on was starting to smell a little funky, too. Suddenly, it all made sense.
