A coworker brought in a bag of costume jewelry to sift through for the taking on a Friday—no strings attached. Thus, triggered my “if you give a mouse some jewelry” gene closely akin to the one that plagued the lovable character in the popular children’s book series.
When presented with shiny new things that are not mine, I am that mouse. And while I totally ascribe to the whole Kondoesque (see: Marie) mantra of don’t push your unwanted stuff on loved ones, it is the unexpected gesture of a small, curated bag of “bits and bobs” that thrills and delights me. (I’m not hard to please.) Loved ones — please do not consider me as the line of defense between your closet and Goodwill, I run a tight closet ship of which I am the captain and most likely do not want your stretched out tank tops on board.
Back to the bag. In the bag? A brooch displaying a war scene, a complicated necklace with a medieval neckline, a sparkly gold bracelet full of brightly-colored gems reminiscent of 90s childhood and a mass of indiscernible tangles—all zipped up in a marble patterned pouch labeled “essentials.” Essentials, indeed!
I quickly snatched up the sparkly bracelet, placing it on my wrist with the satisfying “snap” that only costume jewelry provides, in the middle of a work day paired with an otherwise unimpressive outfit of a white tee and black, cropped, high-waisted jeans and vans. I immediately felt a lift, mostly mentally but I would not fight you if you had told me I suddenly looked taller. I imagined this as my new uniform, one where people would question my after-work plans: skateboarding or dinner party?
“Both,” I would reply as I skated out of frame, sparkling.