Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, my mother makes two different kinds of dip. One is an onion dip, made by combining a tub of sour cream and a packet of onion soup mix. The other is a beef dip which I think is just warm pastrami all chopped up and combined with uh, another tub of sour cream? Whatever it is, it’s sheer insanely delicious meat-magic for your insides. My mom makes them because her mom used to make them.
She serves the onion one with ridged potato chips and the beef one with Fritos (I KNOW RIGHT?), though I can attest that, in a pinch, chips are not required to enjoy them. She got the recipes from her mom, who also made both dips for the holidays. That’s right — it’s a family dipdition, sat-fat style. Zero shame in that game. Keep reading »
There are these women, in Tory Burch flats, with their hair styled, their button-downs starched, and the vents in the backs of their knee-length pencil skirts never rumpled or creased. I know this is true because I see them everyday, slogging along to work, just like me, with their perfectly applied nude lips and their obligatory Longchamps tote.
So as much as I want to believe that such levels of polish existing is as likely as me bumping into a unicorn in CVS, I know better — I’ve commuted beside them in the mornings, quietly mortified. Because, more often than not, I’ve forgotten to apply lipstick before leaving the house, my skirt is clean but wrinkled from sitting on the train ride in, and my own obligatory Longchamps tote — a bid at joining their ranks — is coated in what I am 86% sure is Marshmallow Fluff. (Furtive licking would later prove this to be so.)
It’s not like I’m a slob. I know how to dress for my corporate day job and when I get to the office there’s always a stop at the bathroom to make sure I can pass for business casual. This means: the forgotten lipstick is applied, the cardigan put on, the Fluff removed, the slept-on-it-wet hair pulled back into a clean ponytail, my favorite boots replaced with sensible pumps. By the time I’m done, I’m transformed from who I am into an appropriate, if not stylish, secretary. Keep reading »