Blurt Instrument
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman

As the temperature soars into the high thirties, we set aside pondering if it's cold-enough-for-ya and wonder instead how reflective the woman on the Buick Lacrosse commercial will be when she finishes polishing her derriere. We're free to think about springtime. Thanks to the magic of "save the date" cards, you may already know some weekends in May, June and July you'll spend in formalwear and possible custody, if the occasion warrants, and the warrant warrants. It's February; while you still can, sock away some cash and befriend a bail bondsman. Before we know it, the season of fresh flowers, starched skirts and "I'll kill you with my bare hands" will be upon us like an irate cousin left off the guest list.
 
Yes, love is in the air. Women know it's time to wipe the holiday blood off their credit cards and begin the hunt for this year's outfits. Some travel in packs and hunt in unison; some souls hunt alone, showing no fear of Dry Clean Only labels. Many vow to lose ten pounds before the wedding season commences or the no-returns-after date expires. Malls and dress shops, once pristine environments, will soon be picked clean of tulle, satin and lace by ruthless wedding guests and prom girls who will show even the clearance racks no mercy.
 
Your Darling, Your Diva, Your One True Love watches this annual ritual with amusement and horror; amusement with the frightful things retailers set out on racks and shelves, horror because some adults will pay several hundred dollars for a bubble gum pink backless dress that'd make Barbie blush. Thus, safari becomes the Battle of the Blurt, and a roving pack of ladies with excellent taste cause a dip in the Gross National Product, as when thinking and speaking happen simultaneously and other shoppers drop the offending garment on the way into the changing rooms.
 
Inside voice: Oh. My. God. Judy Jetson's a bridesmaid!
Outside voice: Oh. My. God. Judy Jetson's a bridesmaid!
 
Inside voice: Giant flowers.
Outside voice: It's nice to see people aren't just hunting lawn chairs for their delicate meat.
 
Inside voice: Electric blue horror!
Outside voice: Hey! KoolAid!
 
And blurting can happen anywhere.
 
Inside voice: Hair extension kiosk?
Outside voice: Do pageant winners normally take the pelts of their competitors?
 
Inside voice: Teenagers, next dressing room, cacophony.
Outside voice: FOOD FIGHT!
 
The hunters may be considered successful if they return from hunt with interesting and tasteful purchases. The hunters may consider themselves successful if they've returned with interesting and tasteful purchases and made salesgirls gasp, "Hey! It does look like someone skinned throw pillows and sewed them together as an example to all the others!"
 
Among other prizes, our party bagged a pair of black chiffon pants that must be considered the heretofore unknown medium point between Kathryn Hepburn and Groucho Marx, but the hunting is far from over. We must hunt for blouses and gather foundation garments lovely enough to photograph for posterity, and sturdy enough for night court, because love is in the air and there's blood in the water.
 
Soon, the whole tribe will dine on miniature puff pastry and/or prison chow. It's nearly wedding season.
 

©2005 Robin Pastorio-Newman