Read Online Here I Go Again: A Novel by Jen Lancaster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jen Lancaster
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memories, isn’t it? I inhale deeply and can’t help but smile. The Lissy Ryder whose hair was scented like gardenias and saffron and cinnamon would never have a drink tossed on her. No one would set her business card on fire. Nobody dared ignore that Lissy Ryder . . . no matter how much she might deserve it.
I’m hesitant to rinse and come back to the present, but eventually the water gets cold and I have no choice. Yet as I hose off, I notice how much better my skin looks today. Note to self: Call Deva. Whatever that potion was, I want more.
I wrap myself in a gigantic pink towel and run a comb through my damp hair. The shampoo must contain some stripping chemical that modern products lack, because I swear I look more blond right now. My hair seems longer and curlier too, but that’s probably because I’m desperately overdue for a trim.
I wipe the steam from the mirror and I have to blink a few times. Is it just me or is my complexion extra creamy and rosy right now? The pores are smaller and the lines are practically nonexistent. I must have desperately needed fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep, because I feel thoroughly refreshed.
Back in my room, I slip into a simple cardi and T-shirt. I rummage through the laundry basket and find a pair of jeans. I know I haven’t worn anything denim in a few months, so I suspect my mom bought me some in a bigger size and slipped them in here so I wouldn’t feel like an abject failure. But I’m working in the garage today and I don’t want to get chilly, so I’ll give them a try. As I slide them on, I’m dying over the criminally high waistband, which hits me about an inch below the bra line. I’ve seen Jessica Simpson embracing this trend in magazines lately and I just can’t get behind them. They’re total mom jeans, which, ew! Hello, AC Slater called; he wants his Cavariccis back!
And yet . . .
I regard myself with a critical eye.
Is it just me or do these mom jeans look frigging fantastic ? I check myself out from the front and back. I could wear the highest thong in the world in these pants and no one would ever see a whale tail, no matter how far over I bent. (Not that I currently fit into any of my thongs, but still. Nice to have the option.)
There must be something about the hilariously dated cut, though, because I’m not kidding when I say these shave off thirty pounds. Hell, if I’d known, I’d have worn these to the reunion. I always thought mom jeans gave you butt belly and camel toe but these are outrageously flattering. To think I’d been turning my nose up at Chico’s all these years. Suddenly the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movies make perfect sense—denim can possess magical qualities!
I preen for a few more minutes before I finish dressing. I can’t find my fringed Burberry scarf (suspect it’s being worn to Neiman Marcus today), so I opt for a silly knit one in my old school colors and loop it around and around, hipster style. I toss on a pair of socks and loafers to complete the look.
My makeup bag’s in my missing purse, so I duck into my mom’s dressing room to help myself to her cache. A few swipes of eyeliner, mascara, blush, and gloss and I’m ready to face the day. I can’t believe all the times I’ve dragged her to Sephora, yet she’s all about the old-school stuff like Merle Norman. I guess you can lead a horse to Latisse but you can’t make it stop using Great Lash.
As I dust a layer of powder on my nose, I marvel over how tiny my pores seem. Deva just earned herself two free press releases and one Twitter social media campaign.
When I arrive downstairs, I’m pleased to find there’s coffee left. As it’s a gorgeous fall day, I decide to drink it on the front porch before I start working. I’m pretty sure the industrial platers can wait an extra hour for me to send out the press release on a stunning new breakthrough in torque and tension performance.
I’m two sips in when I see Tommy Barker
I’m hesitant to rinse and come back to the present, but eventually the water gets cold and I have no choice. Yet as I hose off, I notice how much better my skin looks today. Note to self: Call Deva. Whatever that potion was, I want more.
I wrap myself in a gigantic pink towel and run a comb through my damp hair. The shampoo must contain some stripping chemical that modern products lack, because I swear I look more blond right now. My hair seems longer and curlier too, but that’s probably because I’m desperately overdue for a trim.
I wipe the steam from the mirror and I have to blink a few times. Is it just me or is my complexion extra creamy and rosy right now? The pores are smaller and the lines are practically nonexistent. I must have desperately needed fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep, because I feel thoroughly refreshed.
Back in my room, I slip into a simple cardi and T-shirt. I rummage through the laundry basket and find a pair of jeans. I know I haven’t worn anything denim in a few months, so I suspect my mom bought me some in a bigger size and slipped them in here so I wouldn’t feel like an abject failure. But I’m working in the garage today and I don’t want to get chilly, so I’ll give them a try. As I slide them on, I’m dying over the criminally high waistband, which hits me about an inch below the bra line. I’ve seen Jessica Simpson embracing this trend in magazines lately and I just can’t get behind them. They’re total mom jeans, which, ew! Hello, AC Slater called; he wants his Cavariccis back!
And yet . . .
I regard myself with a critical eye.
Is it just me or do these mom jeans look frigging fantastic ? I check myself out from the front and back. I could wear the highest thong in the world in these pants and no one would ever see a whale tail, no matter how far over I bent. (Not that I currently fit into any of my thongs, but still. Nice to have the option.)
There must be something about the hilariously dated cut, though, because I’m not kidding when I say these shave off thirty pounds. Hell, if I’d known, I’d have worn these to the reunion. I always thought mom jeans gave you butt belly and camel toe but these are outrageously flattering. To think I’d been turning my nose up at Chico’s all these years. Suddenly the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movies make perfect sense—denim can possess magical qualities!
I preen for a few more minutes before I finish dressing. I can’t find my fringed Burberry scarf (suspect it’s being worn to Neiman Marcus today), so I opt for a silly knit one in my old school colors and loop it around and around, hipster style. I toss on a pair of socks and loafers to complete the look.
My makeup bag’s in my missing purse, so I duck into my mom’s dressing room to help myself to her cache. A few swipes of eyeliner, mascara, blush, and gloss and I’m ready to face the day. I can’t believe all the times I’ve dragged her to Sephora, yet she’s all about the old-school stuff like Merle Norman. I guess you can lead a horse to Latisse but you can’t make it stop using Great Lash.
As I dust a layer of powder on my nose, I marvel over how tiny my pores seem. Deva just earned herself two free press releases and one Twitter social media campaign.
When I arrive downstairs, I’m pleased to find there’s coffee left. As it’s a gorgeous fall day, I decide to drink it on the front porch before I start working. I’m pretty sure the industrial platers can wait an extra hour for me to send out the press release on a stunning new breakthrough in torque and tension performance.
I’m two sips in when I see Tommy Barker
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