As everyone knows, I purchased my leather pants and red shirt a couple of weeks ago, thought briefly about wearing them to work, then decided I simply couldn’t do it. The red shirt did make a brief appearance at work last week as part of my wear-a-coloured-shirt-to-work-5-days-in-a-row-segment. But the leather pants began their mission of dust-collecting in my closet.
We went to Montreal this weekend as a small escape from the daily pulse of work, chores, and doing the same thing every day/on the weekend. It seemed that if there was anywhere in the world where I MIGHT be a little more comfortable wearing leather pants and a red shirt that screamed, HEY, LOOK AT ME!– it would be there.
Thus, while I hastily packed on Saturday morning, I threw them into my suitcase and hoped that I might summon the Montreal spirit and find the nerve to actually pull them on, and wear them out the door of our hotel for public display, somewhere.
If at anytime faux leather pants (let’s be honest, they’re not real for what I paid for them) might be acceptable, it would be in the fashionable and brave world of Montreal where women walk in stiletto heels, with curve hugging clothes that are perfectly coordinated, with fashionable jackets with faux fur necklines, clutching small handbags in one arm while their other arm is looped through the swaggering arm of their beautiful boyfriend/husband. The boyfriend/husband wears blue jeans, with some perfectly cut shirt that is hidden underneath a leather jacket. A man scarf is draped across their necks, with their heads topped with hat in similar fashion from the 1930’s.
Yeah, this is not the place I belong as my clunky grey hiking boots pound against the sidewalks in snow and ice. I may not belong, but I love Montreal just the same. You can’t help but be excited when you’re in Montreal.
I thought I couldn’t do it. But Saturday night, it finally happened.
I brought out my black faux leather pants, fussed with the red shirt a bit as I stretched and pulled at it, finished my make-up and hair and somehow forced myself out the door of the hotel as hubby and I went on the hunt for dinner.
And the shoes I was wearing? Those clunky grey hiking boots of course.
Hey, it’s who I am.
We made our way to a funky “diner” called the Deville Dinerbar, that offered an array of salads, appetizers, and burgers. But like most things in Montreal, it wasn’t your simple diner. There was music that played in the background; HUGE and interesting drinks had been ordered and sat on almost every table; and as the food floated past us it wasn’t your simple salads and burgers. They were all uniquely created.
I ordered the General Tso Salad and was in awe when it arrived. As I sat there on my stool, with hubby by my side, I watched people pass by the window as we looked out on the Montreal street. I wiggled in my stool, and every once in awhile throughout our meal, I stretched out my arms a bit and grooved to the beat. Because when you wear leather pants and a bright red shirt – you can’t hide. You make your own rules. And those rules include: being perched on a stool, swaggering to the sound of the music, while enjoying every bit of your artistically, beautifully crafted, General Tso Salad.
Did anyone notice? I removed one entry from the blog series. This entry should have been #62. (Numbers 57-61 were the 5 days of colour.)
So far, it’s doubtful if I’ll pass the mark of reaching 36 KM in the next month in training for the upcoming 10 KM Hypothermic Run on March 4th. If I manage to complete it, I’ll add it back in. If not, at least I don’t have to go back and wonder, did I remove it? Did I? Did I?
It’s just easier this way.