We’re having enchiladas for supper tonight.
They use up our leftover tortillas, grilled chicken, tomato sauce, veggies and such, so they are fairly regular fare for us. While enchiladas are certainly not fancy, we do eat them in the dining room and pretend we’re grown-ups, tra-la-la.
Tonight though, is no regular supper.
For, if I squint a little, I can see that the glasses are crystal goblets, from the 1920s. Just the kind of heirlooms that are magically filled after each course. I can imagine that our enchiladas are sitting on delicate china and that I am wearing satin gloves that cover my aristocratic elbows. I blink and there is Carson, the butler, standing over by the drinks cabinet.
Of course, Carson is glaring at our choice of food and lack of footmen. In fact, I can already hear his remonstration about how we are not “keeping up Standards” with those “foreign”, tex-mex morsels and laissez-faire attitude towards our cutlery.
Worry not, darling Carson:
At least I have my purse.
If you have ever seen the television show, Downton Abbey, you’ll know that it is terribly important for a lady to dress for–and carry one’s purse–when she goes down for dinner. Never mind that the lady has heard the dressing gong ages ago and is still wearing yoga pants and a hoodie instead of Downton-dinner-appropriate jewels and tiara:
At least she has her purse.
I mean, I do.
And a very Downton-esque specimen it is.
Practical Man (who reminds me a little bit of Carson, sometimes, but more often of Bates) found it at a local thrift shop. Like Bates, Practical Man is full of honour and penitence (and the resignation and shoulders to be able to pull off the requisite suit of that era). Case in point, Practical Man not only spots treasures like this purse among the fray, but actually shows it to me, instead of burying it deeper on the thrift store shelf in the hopes that I will never find it.
He’s the Bates to my Anna, really.
Anyway, this lovely, beaded bag was CDN$6.50 and looks as if it has never graced the dinner of an enchilada eater (no tomato sauce stains) or an aristocrat (no diamonds inside). I’m not sure if it’s truly vintage or merely a reproduction, but I love it all the same.
Sure, I’m still wearing yoga pants and a hoodie.
But, with this flapper-inspired beauty beside me, our enchiladas have never looked so good.