The Awakening Of Sweet Coquette

My most vibrant memories of my childhood are of the time spent sitting at my Mother's vanity, tentatively touching her precious treasures~her gilded hair brush and comb, lavender 1940s musical powder box wreathed in faux pearls, Avon perfume bottles in flowery scents, golden tubes of crimson lipstick..For me, each item was embued with the powerful magic of transformation, promising to turn me into a mysterious, beautiful and sensuous beauty like her. No matter how busy her day, my Mother always exuded that inherent cool chic that French women seem to effortlessly display. Slim, toned and sleekly coiffed, she would slip into her little black sheath dress, wind strands of shimmering pearls around her neck, and add peep toe pumps and a matching reptile bag. Voila! She was ready to go to the market to buy fresh ingredients for our dinner, stopping at the local butcher and bakery for delicious sausages and freshly baked bread as I trailed at her heels. As she spoke to the shop owners, I clung to her leg, my little head barely visible under the hem of her skirt, feeling the security of her smooth flesh under my hand. At that moment, I awoke to the amazing effect a tilted head, slightly lowered eyes, and a smiling backward glance had on people~the doors it opened, the bargains it obtained, and the appreciative sighs it elicited. I slip into my Mother's old shoes and linen sheath and suddenly I am invincible, filled with confidence and certainty that I can conquer the world, or at least my day, with style and chic~just as she did.