What happens if you read the NYT Style Magazine

7 Jun

Every once in a great while, I dream that my dad is a wealthy banker or boring accountant instead of a preacher.

I visit him in his lovely office, and sit on his lap with my shiny new Style magazine and say, Daddy, I need this.

And he says, OK, and he laughs, and hugs me, and calls me Chi-Chi Bug.

Then I write him a poem that goes something like this:

I want to live
like a book in your library,
sit among great friends and
old strangers, soaking
in a perfume of ancient elegance,
while i savor the feel
of type
of tale
on my every page.
 

And I read it to him, and he loves it. Then he says, What did you want again? And I show him my NYT Style Magazine, with the pictures of the  salad of grilled mushrooms, candied walnuts, arugula and goat cheese. I show him the Kate Moss for Longchamp travel bag, the Georgian manor in Ireland, the Fiat Cinquecento, the Nuova Manica Lunga library in Venice, and the Jil Sanders pants (which are quite the steal at $2,175, Barneys.com).

And he says, Coûte que coûte.

This daydream is brought to you by Rachel, who loves to dream things that make no sense.

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