City Babes

Cousin K is home from the Big City, something that seems intrinsic to my happiness. We made good memories there. In the Big City, that is. Like the time she joined Mom and me at The Waldorf towards the end of our trip my senior year. She arrived looking very New York-ish in the lobby of the Waldorf-Astoria*, a stylish carry-on in tow. We lounged about in the lobby, opened up ridiculously over-priced items like microscopic bags of cashews from our mini-bar and took full advantage of the concierge, who gave us directions to the finest dining including a place in Little Italy where we gorged ourselves on pasta and sparkling water with lime. (When in the Big City, go big or go home. Always add a citrus embellishment.)

This amazing once-in-a-lifetime deal slash gift of graduation grace from the travel gods my Mother found included free makeovers at Bloomingdales. So, atop fifth avenue, adjacent to Central Park, the three of us were doted on by Estee Lauder employees for over an hour. We were pampered pampered pampered and walked out looking like we could walk onto a Broadway stage. None of us had ever worn that much makeup in our lives, but it was well worth it. The serums! The creams! The under-eye-circle-reduction potions! It was all so heavenly. In a moment of haste, after hearing "Yoah goahjuss, Maatha! Just goahjuss!" a thousand times and being told the fountain of youth was contained in a tiny bottle, my mother bought me the most expensive beauty product I have owned to date. Something about smaller pores, wrinkle reduction and skin rejuvenation. All I know is that it made my skin feel, as a New Yorker would say, "Like buddah!" And, at age eighteen, this million dollar cream that came in a bottle the size of my pinky, was imperative to my beauty-future. I used it down to the last drop, scraping the bottom of the bottle with a q-tip towards the end. I practically gave that bottle a funeral upon it running dry, turning my head as I dropped the pretty bottle into the trash bin. I held back the tears as to not remove the lotion-potion from my face with waterworks.

Tonight, nearly ten years (yikes!) and a few wrinkles (gasp!) later, I was going through a bunch of free samples in my bathroom drawer, tossing this and that. A tiny bottle caught my eye. It was way too pretty to be of little importance and therefore tossed. It's a blue-green that shimmers in the reflection of the mirror. I opened it up, and with one whiff, I was back on the fifth floor of Bloomingdales, with the beauty experts in their white coats, saying "Yoah goahjuss!" Whether it makes me goahjuss, I have yet to say. This I know: it smells like heaven in a bottle just the right size for Stewart Little. I shall use it ever-so-sparingly. But mostly, I will unscrew the lid, inhale deeply and transport myself back to my first adventure in the Big City with Cousin K. There have been more adventures since our Fith Avenue Facial Fantasy come to fruition and there will be more in the future, but for now, I'm glad she's back on home turf, at least for a little while. Welcome home, dahling. Yoah just goahjuss!

*Lest you're ready to cue the theme song to Green Acres...
(New York is where I'd rather stay.
I get allergic smelling hay.
I just adore a penthouse view.
Dah-ling I love you but give me Park Avenue)
know this: My mother dearest found the most amazing deal. Staying at The Waldorf was cheaper than staying at the Marriott. I swear. It was, in a word (or three) an absolute dream!