It was a plum jacket. High quality. I bought it at Von Maur. Underneath was an ivory turtleneck, blending in well with the change from Nebraska fall to winter. My boots were black Italian stretch leather. My first purchase of expensive footwear from an exclusive boutique store in Omaha. My black slacks were also likely overpriced, but a must-have from a store recommended by the high class of Omaha; doctors' and attorneys' wives and the sort. On this cold day in November, I chose to wear this ensemble. There was a sense of pride that I had made it. I was one of the Omaha elite. Shopping where they shopped. Living where they lived. This was my wardrobe choice to my first appointment with my divorce attorney. Classy yet conservative. And high quality. Just the persona I wanted to exude. Dress for the part. I needed a divorce attorney and I wanted the best. Diligently researching, I found him. But I also knew that his client list was th
Upon Further Reflection
I have a lovely friend who tells a lovely story about her mom. The irony is that someone else now tells this same story but has replaced the primary character from my friend to herself. She isn't lying. She believes her version to be true. That's what happens when we repeat stories. Their fabric often changes through the re-telling. The stories I write here may be true or they may not. Consider this blog historical fiction. I write them soley to share the enjoyment they gave me.