i have always been into Stevie Nicks. Like…ALWAYS.
i can’t remember a time when i didn’t love her.
She’s one of those entertainers that sort of fits into many of life’s moments. When i was an awkward, pimply pre-teen and wanted to be a “singer on a big stage”, i would stand on my bed, hairbrush-microphone held up to my mouth and wail out Gold Dust Woman. As an angst-ridden, rebellious teen i would storm off to my room, slam the door, put on my long black goth clothes and croon to Bella Donna. Upon entering college, with my oh-so-big-and-beautiful 80’s mall hair, i would pair lace gloves and long jackets with high-heeled ankle boots and strut around my dorm room singing Stand Back. She just worked for EVERY occasion. She was perfect.
And when i matured into an awkward, somehow STILL pimply faced, rebellious but usually just confused adult, my very favorite driving music to get me through bringing-home-the-bacon commutes was anything by Stevie Nicks. Both solo and Fleetwood Mac. It didn’t matter. It was all wonderful. She spoke to my SOUL.
So, now, as a more seasoned adult – nostalgic for those days when i really thought i could BE Stevie Nicks – i stumbled across an ankle-length macrame-style black lacy shawl-vest thingy and instantly bought it. How wonderful!! i threw that around my shoulders, put my arms through the holes and began to sashay around the store, making the long, flowy cardigan undulate in waves behind me.
Or – that’s what i MEANT to do.
What actually happened, was i took 2 steps, tripped as my foot was caught up in all that material and was saved from crashing into an innocent and surprised shopper by grabbing another innocent and surprised shopper.
“Sorry!” i say as i quickly right myself again. “It’s just so….long!”
And it was.
Way long. Way way long. Way too long for the vertically-challenged me.
(<——– this is NOT me. More like what i THOUGHT it would look like on me. i kinda forgot i’m not that tall. Or that skinny. Or that…..THAT.)
Can i walk in it?
Who cares!!!! It’s so Stevie Nicks!!
It didn’t matter that it was a tripping hazard and crocheted and Bohemian and neither have ever, ever been my style… i was going to wear it, dammit, and i was going to look Just. Like. Stevie. Effing. Nicks.
i carefully took it off, put it safely in a bag and smiling and humming Rhiannon, i left the store.
You know how this is going to go right? By now, you might just be able to use some forecasting skills and take a wild guess that this was not going to end up the way i thought it would. i mean, i had NO business trying to wear a long, hole-y, flow-y, crochet-y, thing made more for the 6’3″ tall, sinewy Gabrielle Reece than the 5′ nothing slightly round, seemingly lacking the gene for graceful perambulation, me.
The first time i wore it, i tripped twice and was told by a well-meaning citizen that my “shawl was dragging the ground”.
The second time, i tripped a total of three times, caught the loose, dangly (and SO Stevie!) edges in both a bathroom and my car door and had TWO well-meaning citizens point out my vertical challenges. Nevermind! i was channeling my inner gypsy and i was SO rocking it!
Then, came what shall be forever known as the Scooter vs. Bohemian Gypsy Shawl Incident of 2016.
What i have neglected to tell you, dear reader, is due to an achilles-tendon tendonitis issue (ahhh…a story for another time) i was wearing an air cast on my right foot and had been loaned a scooter by the Employee Assistance Resource Center to get around campus. i was feeling my inner Stevie this particular day and had on my Gypsy Shawl and was leaving for an appointment across campus when a coworker asked if, perhaps, i shouldn’t take the long, potentially dangerous thing off while driving the scooter on campus (it goes 8 miles an hour!! Ask me how i know!!). i scoffed at her “sky-is-falling” attitude but did pull up the bottom half of my glamorous garment and tossed it nonchalantly over one arm, mounted my chariot, and rode off to class.
And all would have been well, had i not stopped to check out an impromptu student free speech gathering happening in front of the Student Union.
i stepped off my trusty mount to take some photos, listen to a few speeches and applaud my support. As i turned to walk back to the scooter, i didn’t take into account the “twirl time” of my voluptuous vestment and suddenly found myself twisted up in the dang danglies and falling.
“AAAH!” i involuntarily shout as both hands shoot out to catch my fall. (No! tuck and roll! tuck and roll! WHEN will i ever learn that??) Then, miraculously, i manage to untangle my feet just as i reach the downward point of no return and my left foot shoots out to catch myself just as my right hand literally throws my precious iPhone across the pavement in preparation of (stupidly) catching my fall.
That is the unmistakable sound of my iPhone’s touch screen shattering into a million bazillion little cracks and pieces, and i know it.
As i recover from my close encounter with gravity, i don’t even have to turn the phone over and look to know that i have killed it.
The ten or so students near me who witnessed the whole blessed event shake their heads and sigh in empathy. Crap. i’m both embarrassed and horrified and just want to get the heck out of dodge and back to my office to assess this latest adventure’s price tag. As i quickly get back on my scooter, my thoughts are entirely on my murdered iPhone and i have completely forgotten that i am wearing the equivalent of Superman’s cape on Mr. Magoo’s body and i shove the key in, clamp down on the forward lever and turn the speed all the way up to ‘rabbit’.
And immediately, two things happen.
One – my head and arm are jerked back so hard i hear bones pop and i find myself looking up at the sky with a rapidly tightening noose around my neck and..
B – the scooter picks up speed and takes off like the proverbial flying rodent out of the flaming inferno.
“AAAANNNGGGGGRRRRRKKKKKKK!!!” or something like that comes out my mouth.
i can’t see forward anymore, the scooter is rattling forward at an alarming rate through a crowded campus and i am beginning to see little stars in front of my oxygen-depleted eyes. What is happening to me?? Who has my neck in a vice?? Am i getting scooter-jacked? Am i having an aneurism? Did i propel myself in to another dimension and now some sort of time-traveling parasitic alien creature is attacking me and my noble steed in an attempt to capture this wondrous 8 mph piece of technology??
(ok, ok…that one isn’t probably a thing but i watch a LOT of tv)
NO…i suddenly realize as a small crowd of worried students begin to..
A – jump out of the way and..
Two – chase me down in a good samaritan effort to stop this crazy horse – meanwhile, my freaking Stevie Nicks/bohemian gypsy shawl caught in my back wheel is choking the life out of me and keeping me barreling down blindly on innocent college students!
“AAAAACK!!” i say again, somehow more coherently, and i realize i still have control of my right thumb, and i let go of the throttle.
WHHHOOOOMPF! The scooter shudders to a halt.
i’m panting, seeing stars, frozen in an awkward backwards arch, staring up at the sky and i understand that i need to BACK. THE. EFF. UP. to unwind my bohemian gypsy death trap of a garment from the back wheels of my bad motor scooter.
i stretch my entangled left arm as far as i can and just barely grasp the reverse throttle with my fingertips. Slowly…oh so slowly…i squeeze the throttle and creep carefully backwards. A few feet…and i could finally breathe again. A few more feet…and i could sit upright and twist to assess the damage. And also see the now moderate crowd jogging towards me to help.
Oh CRAP. OF COURSE i would do this in front of an audience!!!! Of course…..
i smile weakly and nod my head (as much as the noose will allow) and try to unroll the now greatly elongated and infinitely more hole-y crocheted bohemian gypsy death shawl. It isn’t unrolling fast enough and the crowd is growing more concerned and i am growing more mortified so i just make one final yank and rip the dang thing off the wheels. i wad (and wad and wad) it up around my arm, wave in what i hope was a satisfactorily “i’m ok” fashion and drove off holding the shredded remains of my former glorious garment in one hand, and the shattered remains of my former fully functioning iPhone in the other.
Let’s just say, that upon returning to my office, there wasn’t anything my coworkers could say that laughing hysterically until the snorted couldn’t say better.
My ruined Stevie shawl went in the garbage and my iPhone went to the repair shop. $150 and a day later, the only signs left of my near-death experience was a slightly red rope burn around my neck and the random chuckling of my office mates.
OHHHHhhhhh Stevie. Your powers are mighty and wondrous………..