‘Girl…what are you wearing?’ He looks down at the clumpy Teva sandals on her feet. ‘Boy…have you not been hearing about my bum knee lately? I’m wearing a brace. I can’t handle heels today’. She looks at his face. ‘Even for you, my love. Even for your commencement. Teva clunk it is’.
He sighs. ‘You look…you look…’ his voice trails off. ‘The word you are searching for is ‘granola’. Granola…’hangers on’ from 1969…through hikers…communes or wanna be revolutionaries…granola…bad cereal…pseudo rejection of bourgeoisie thoughts…’
He looks out the window. ‘Yes…none of which fits you…granola. No, I don’t see it. You know where granola goes?’ She replies, ‘Yes…the sink…or stale in the box’. He sighs.
‘Help me clunk out to the car, Halston’ she commands. ‘Well’ he concedes as he takes her arm and guides her down onto the porch…’you redeemed it with a fresh pedicure, I see’. She turns to him and smiles as he stares at her feet.
‘Because boy, in my soul…in my soul…I’m Chanel’. Together they walk into the glorious May morning…
690 Saint Paul 