I don't know Susan, but she gets a big gold star for leaving her fabulous plush robe and her book on Marie Curie's discovery of Radioactive Substances out on the snowy sidewalk in a Manolo Blahnik bag for me to pick up.
I've been wanting a white plush bathrobe ever since I got back from Miami. Hotel robes are used, I reason. They're just washed, like I will (likely) wash Susan's before I put it on and channel the lady whose name is embroidered on the side.
I love the idea of being someone other than I am, putting myself in someone else's shoes, (or robe as the case may be.) I do it anyway in front of the mirror, imagine, if I am able, someone not so grey and wrinkled, so what will be different?
For a while at least, for as long as I continue to like the robe, I will be Susan. She is a bit bigger, if the robe size is any indication, (let's call it, kindly, more voluptuous, Rubenesque even) and has the daring to wear stilettos that she pays way too much for, a small price, really, for feeling sexy. Cool. I like her.
As for the book on Marie Curie, I was curious. I know nothing about Physics, dropped it my senior year in high school in favor of editing the school newspaper and practicing my Erma Bombeck monologues for Speech & Debate tournaments. My real interest is really in Ms. Curie herself, a woman who gained admission to the Sorbonne against all odds in 1891, became the school's first female faculty member, and then went on to receive the Nobel prize for isolating Radium, a deadly substance that, in the end, killed her.
I will think of Marie Curie's bravery and boldness while in my robe, while Susan, as I try to remind myself to be strong. We women have to stop and appreciate one another's strength, after all, not just try jealously to sap it as so often happens. Gold stars to women trying to be great, whatever that might mean.
Yay!
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