This morning, we decided to go to Burlington to try to find some papel picado. I was surprised when our local Mexican grocer not only didn’t have them but didn’t know what I was talking about when I asked after them. I’ve never lived any place where papel picado was not readily available. It kind of punctuates the total lack of multiculturalism in Bellingham, which has been bumming me out lately. On the bright side, however, the local Mexican grocer DID have a rad piñata for $8, perfect for George’s birthday party, and a pack of loteria cards with which I plan to torture our Halloween guests (planned games — sorry, gang). Last night I finally hemmed a Goodwill dress I got a few weeks ago. It was calf-length and, intact, really enhanced my 1970s high school guidance counselor look, but in trying to look presentable and not costumed, I needed to shorten it up a bit.
Pardon my vague disgust.
What happened once we arrived in Burlington was a little bit magical. We discovered that the first Mexican grocer on our list shared a parking lot with a Value Village and a Humane Society charity shop. George fell asleep, and I generously offered to jump out of the car and pop into the thrift stores while Nathan drove the sleeping babe around. I admired the adoptable kitties, found a book of folk songs, a 1970s approximation of Hooked on Phonics but way, way cuter and a red knit turban I imagine was worn by — yes, you guessed it — a high school guidance counselor circa 1972. The boys turned up, as George had roused, and I made my way to the register where there were, behind the counter, not one but TWO packages of pristine papel picado. For a dollar each. !!! I told the checkout lady that we’d come for papel picado and had just decided to look around before we went to the Mexican store. “They’ve never carried these!” She said. So we bought them, called it a day and got some lunch.
As for the outfits, neither mine nor George’s is terribly flattering. George got cold so we had to double layer hoodies, giving him an even fluffier than usual appearance. I have no excuse other than this: I always try to wear belts, because I feel like I should, and I wind up looking like I’m wearing a wench costume. Big boobs, man. They’re a heartbreaker sometimes.
On me:
dress – vintage, Goodwill
tights – Hue, Nordstrom
sweater – American Eagle but from TJ Max, I think
booties – Mi shoes
belt – vintage, thrifted
bag – LAMB
on George:
tights – gap
shorts – Macy’s (in Texas)
visible sweatshirt – Yo Gabba Gabba!
hat – gift from our amazingly talented friend, Nell
