Summer, where did you go?
I thought, before I put all my white away, I’d wear it, one more time to Bemelmans, to give it its seasonal sendoff.
I know. You would think I’d be over, No White After Labor Day Disease by now, but that just isn’t the case.
The next time my vintage Ann Taylor culottes and white, silk shell will be seen, will be Memorial Day, 2018. Oh, mustn’t forget my ivory Gucci loafers I’ll drop off at the cobbler’s for a little polish before they snuggle into their kelly green felt shoe bag.
Connecticut, she dies hard with her croquet mallet in full swing.
But we still have three more days to whitely gleam, and I’m certainly not alone in this, a number of Nutmegers sprinkled round the room.
If only I had a state-of-the-art video camera. Ken Burns, move over.
There’s Muffy at the bar in a full-skirted, white eyelet dress I’d kill for, navy ribbons laced along the front. I like how she’s tapping her wedgie espadrille to Earl, the piano player’s, tune as if any minute she’d break out in song. See, white can do that, make you feel invincible and virginal…alright, and just a little hallucinating.
Well, vodka straight up helps too.
A chap, in chaps, glides in to join her, stopping at the door for full red carpet effect, nodding to Earl, waving to Muff who’s now off her stool ready, in full hug.
He runs to her like in a deodorant commercial while she laughs, as if life with a roll-on just couldn’t get much better.
Ah yes, to be oversexed, overdressed and dumb, now those were the days, when your biggest ambition was to splurge on new undies, not waiting for the Saks sale.
While they pose, I sit, on a comfy banquette scribbling away, wondering if their whites will also be shipped out in a coupla days, like sailors in On The Town.
What’s interesting is, I never do see much white anyplace after Labor Day. Could that be because New York is so near Connecticut, to be neighborly, adheres to her rigid sartorial rules?
My Dubonnet on the rocks says, no…it’s merely a coincidence, or just me in denial, refusing to see white till next May.
All I know is, no matter what time of year it is or what anyone’s wearing, Bemelmans Bar is still the place to be.
What Earl, what’s that you’re crooning?
IN OLDEN DAYS, A GLIMMER OF STOCKING,
WAS LOOKED AT AS SHOCKING.
BUT NOW, GOD KNOWS
Hmm, could that possibly mean, I can still wear white after Monday?