I think I've always been a Golden Girl--old before my time, stupendously sarcastic, and drawn to tacky floral prints.
I know, I know. You're thinking, "Lexi. What on earth am I looking at?" Well, you're looking at evidence of me being a Golden Girl. Let me explain...
I was ten when we moved into our new house--so I guess not really new anymore, but that's still how we refer to it. My mom, being the extraordinary mother that she is, let me design my new bedroom. Floor to ceiling. (Well, probably not floor or I would've asked for marble tiles, I'm sure.)
Together, Mom and I created a 1950's wonderland complete with pink and white striped bedspread, a jukebox pillow that is THE COOLEST PILLOW EVER, a soda shop clock, and "cool" wallpaper and border. She sewed everything to my specifications, and I absolutely loved it.
Until one day I didn't.
This weekend, when I went home for Mother's Day, Mom and I took a little road trip to do some shopping. I don't even know how we got on the subject, but she told me the story of how I approached her a couple of years after we'd moved in and said, "Look, my room 'just isn't the real me.'"
I know. This sounds nothing like the Lexi H. you know and love. But my mom assures me this is what I said. So, my mother, sainted woman that she is, let me design a room that would encompass "The Real Me."
Apparently that real me, even way back then, was an iteration of a Golden Girl. That mess of a bedspread you see under my overly florid floral Lilly Pulitzer for Target plates? The hot pink and blue and green and yellow Ralph Lauren print? That was the real me.
And it has been the real me for, um, well a bunch of years. And now that Mom and I are going to redecorate my childhood room again--paint over the lurid walls, refresh the draperies and linens, rearrange some furniture (maybe experiment with headboard upholstery), I'm starting to get a little panicked. It was my choice to redecorate. And it's not like I live at Mom and Dad's (though I am a happy and fairly frequent visitor). I have my own house to decorate and redecorate at will. But I did a lot of growing up in that room between the ages of ten and eighteen, told those ghastly (fabulous) floral pillows all of my secrets...
Maybe I'll save some of the drapery fabric to put away in my fabric closet. Maybe I'll make a little throw pillow for somewhere in my new house (the one I bought years ago but still refer to as "my new house"). I've still got lots of secrets to whisper...
Or maybe I'll make a fabulous kaftan out of it.