It was Britta, and she was desperate. Desperate, she explained, for a wardrobe over-haul.
I had just seen her, the day before, and everything had been fine. We had enjoyed our leisurely picnic lunch with our boys out on the lawn. Where had that blissful peace gone? The urgency of this new request caught me off guard.
But I would not take this cry lightly. A serious plea for wardrobe help invokes a serious response of fashion advice. I could not leave my friend panicked, hanging on by a thread and clinging to old garments. No, no, no.
It was time for a fashion rescue. I sounded the alarm by pulling down the handle on the little red box on our wall, and Liam--who was napping in his crib but has practiced with us on what to do during an emergency--knew where our meeting place was. To the car we scurried and into the car seat he hopped, defying the the laws of physics that usually limit 8-month-olds.
Our two-hour drive was the longest two hours of Britta's life, she said later; but, when we arrived at the scene, we found her composed. Her wonderful husband Steve had assured her that my fashion skillz were sure to come through for her.
I helped her as she limped through the parking lot to the mall, burdened by the heavy weight of last season's clothes. She needed something cooler, both figuratively and literally so, and we were on a quest to find it.
To gain strength for the daunting yet joyful task ahead, we first fueled up on salads and soup at the Nordstrom Cafe. Then, with our bellies full and our sleeves rolled up, we deftly infiltrated into the women's section. We were on our mission! She surrendered full trust and control to me she said, and she expressed her willingness to try on ANYTHING I suggested.
We took a divide-and-conquer mentality, her going to the right and me going to the left. What I hadn't told her yet was that my eyes were searching for things of this color pallet:
I definitely wanted stripes. I certainly wanted emerald. A pop of yellow was a must. And a good ruby red and a decent navy would be icing on the cake.
Finally, my arms were full. To the dressing room we went. Liam had a marvelous time with the mirrors.
At first, Britta wasn't sure about the items I selected. In fact, later she would admit that in the dressing room she began to feel sorry for me, certain that she would have to let me down, telling me that the combinations I chose were a no-go! But, she gave the items her best shot, even though she saw lots of repeats. :)
Most importantly, she was open to my ideas. And she soon found herself really liking them...and knowing what items to pick up next! I even convinced her to buy an emerald handbag and emerald drop earrings.
And, before you knew it, she put together some awesome new looks, all with interchangeable pieces! Good job, Britta!!
But her favorite accessory continues to be the one she's carrying in the last picture. :)
Ah. Crisis averted.