rev:text
| - Pearly Mae's is your grandmother's attic, assuming your grandmother was a Hollywood diva who served with the WACs in WWII, commuted to Paris (where she had a pied-a-terre with her third husband, a member of Hungarian royalty twenty years her junior) during her career, and ultimately retired to Arizona to break horses. Her dude ranch served a lot of casseroles, requiring an amazing supply of now-vintage Pyrex.
Most of us need to put in the effort at being 20% more fascinating, just to keep up with Pearly Mae's.
Things I remember:
--Acres of sparkly vintage jewelry. If I once start looking seriously at rings there, I'm going to end up with my fingers too encrusted in sparklies to type.
--Hats. Highly respectable hats. Also an entire room full of shoes. And another room of menswear.
--Bright colored satin-y and silk-y dresses in patterns and styles that I can't even place, but they speak the international language of "the party didn't start until I got here." Most also appeared capable of covering enough real estate that one doesn't have to be age nineteen and size two in order to exude fabulousness.
--Pyrex-mania! If you think you can't find a Pyrex pattern that would go with your kitchen, stop in here and be proven wrong.
--The sort of sofa that settles into your living room with a little flirtatious shrug and is all "helloooo, end tables!"
There was a good deal more, but you get the idea. Pearly Mae is clearly related to Auntie Mame... life is a banquet, and so's the range of stock here.
|