Getting Older . . . Not Better

No matter how old you get, some memories stay with you . . . I, for instance, will never forget Stinky Bear.

Martha Stewart I'm not! My idea of a home-made gift is a tin can turned into a pencil holder.  Read about some of my other creations!

There are few things that are scarier than "me" in the morning.  Until I've had my coffee, I'm worse than any scary movie creature you can name! See for yourself.

Some things in life you never forget . . . like the initial shock of finding yourself standing in a department store actually contemplating buying a . . .  DUSTER!!! Will I do it?

You'd think that a woman who has to lift the family laundry hamper on a regular basis would qualify as an Olympic weightlifter.   But alas, my only good buns come from the grocery store!

Mothers don't have to go out in the world to get sick -- we're lucky enough to have our families import the germs to us!  Visit me on my sick bed.

Will modern science ever devise a doughnut low in carbohydrates and full of vitamins?  Come dream with me!

OK -- so I like my  lime green culottes and knee socks.  That's no reason for my kids to be horrified that someone will recognize me as their mother! Come be indignant with me!

No one can say that I can't hold up my end of the conversation when the subject turns to film . . . I'll have you know that I know as much about Barney and The Road to Eldorado as anyone!

You know those TV ads that promise if you put their product in your tub, you'll be magically transported out of your household chaos?  Baloney!

I don't think I'm too bad the way I am, as woman my age go . . . but my son seems to prefer to think of me as "Stone Cold Carole Moore"

From big hair to Cher hair, and lately to "STOP-sign red"-- I've tried it all.  Commiserate with me . . . read A Hair-Raising Tale!

It's bad enough we have to get old . . . but the final humiliation comes when your kids tell you that your dancing "looks gross! Share my humiliation . . .    Who Says I'm Not Cool!

Normal women have "lumps" in strategic places . . . Have you looked for a dress lately for women with lumps? You won't find one here, but you can Share My Misery

I'm so excited -- I lost 10 lbs! Just wish it weren't the same 10 lbs that I've already lost several times over! Barefoot and Naked -- The Only Way to Weigh Yourself!

There's No Guido's Clothing Emporium in Rome

 © 2001-2002 Carole Moore

My family recently returned from a long-anticipated trip to Italy. Although my roots are firmly planted in Anglo-Saxon America, I've always loved fancy coffee and pasta, so I figure there must be some Italian in me somewhere.

While there I saw the sites and did what any red-blooded American woman does when faced with miles of stores in which she's never been – shopped! And in doing so I discovered it's not as easy to do as the Romans do as I thought. Here are a few observations about my experience:

    1. Most Roman women are built like a breadstick. If you don't believe it, try buying clothes there. Women's clothes comes in three sizes: Medium, Small and Even Smaller Than That. Unfortunately for me, there is no size called Bigger Than A Bread Truck.

    2. As a general rule, the shorter the store's name, the more expensive the items and the skinnier the sales associates. Armani, Valentino and Versace have skinnier sales people and more expensive merchandise than, say, Guido's Clothing Emporium. And a belt at a one-name store costs about the same as a mini-van does without being anywhere near as useful.

    3. The less merchandise in a store, the more that merchandise costs. A store that looks like the occupants are in the process of moving and most of their stuff has already been put into the U-Haul and all that's left are a couple of things in the closet that the first couple of trips didn't catch probably isn't going to carry tee-shirts that say "Someone in Rome Loves Me." But if they do, they will cost approximately the same amount of money as four years tuition to Duke University.

    4. Italians consider shoes to be of major importance. The shoes they wear today will hit American stores in about a year. When American stores start carrying Italian shoe styles, they will immediately go out of fashion in Italy. There is a reason for this: Italians for not want to look like us.  Flip flops and tennis shoes with little fold-up wheels inside the bottoms of them are not now, nor have they ever been, big in Rome.

    5. A sign that says, "Liquidazione" in front of a major fashion designer's store  does not mean that the items inside will approach affordable to the average person who possesses neither trust fund nor sugar daddy. A sweater that is advertised as half off on the outside of the store still sells on the inside of the store for about the equivalent of an Amtrak railway car.

    6. No self-respecting Roman would ever be caught wearing any of the following: Polyester anything, tennis shoes (unless one is actually playing tennis), a maternity shirt with an arrow that points to the tummy and says, "Bambino," bandanas, one-size-fits-all, elastic waist pants, sweatsuits, plastic rain bonnets or tee-shirts with the legend "Stolen from UNC Athletic Dept.

    7. All Romans dress in black – from head to toe. Being in the more fashionable parts of Rome can resemble being plopped down in the middle of the world's biggest funeral.

    8. Americans stick out like sore thumbs in Rome. We are not whippet thin. We do not wear four-inch high heels to empty the garbage. And we do not dedicate ourselves to fashion. Nope. We dedicate ourselves to eating.

    9.  If I had a choice between wearing four-inch heels with grace and eating Twinkies, the little yellow sponge cakes win every time. OK – so maybe I'm NOT Italian, after all. But I am crazy about their food. Does that count?

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