Would it have been worth it after all, after the chinese food, the cheese curls, the wine, among the netflix sleeves, the talk of you and me, would it have been worthwhile to say: "I am Lazarus, come back to tell you all, it is a blessing you never saw this film when you were seventeen."
No! I am no Carine Roitfeld, nor was meant to be; am an observer, one that will do to swell your ego, censure an outfit or two, advise the girls, no doubt an easy tool; at times, indeed ridiculous - almost, at times, the Fool.
And yet, amongst last night's debaucheries, I could not but offer up a prayer of thanks that my fair companions had not witnessed the excess of eighties bohemia in their younger, more impressionable years. For if I cringe now to think of the state in which my mermaids trotted off to school to talk of Michelangelo, how much more would I now shudder had their creations included cropped-lace button-downs or gartered boxer shorts?
Yet I do not doubt this would have been the case. Not a scene flitted by our eyes when my mermaids did not cry: "I own that purse!" or "That sweater is just like yours!" I saw as plain as day the ticker tape running behind their eyes, shopping lists forming in the swirls of their irises: studded boots and military jackets and maybe a new pair to replace their ratty old lace gloves. I know for certain that Jordan is already on the hunt for an oversized hat box for weekend jaunts, and Daisy can't wait to pair her lace ruffled bustier prom dress with anything studded.
It is to be regretted, certainly, but how much worse would the damage have been if the time had not been right. Even so, Jordan left for work this morning with orange-red lips floating above her layered chain necklaces, studded belt, lace fingerless glove, and turned-down boots. Need I buy up all the sequined sheathes on e-Bay? It might, in fact, be a necessary precaution. And indeed there will be time to wonder "Do I dare?" and "Do I dare?"