Breakfast at Tiffany's was on cable this weekend. And there went my plans for the midday. Who doesn't want to be Audrey Hepburn for a couple of hours, even if she's a poorly disguised call girl? The clothes are so chic. She is so beautiful. George Peppard is rather dishy. It's a fun little escape in spite of the shoplifting, cigarettes and Mean Reds.
However, I am always completely annoyed by the repeated use of "Tiffany's". It's not like they are going over to a cheerleader's house for muffins. No. It is Tiffany. As in Charles Lewis. One fails to acknowledge the "Co" by adding the possessive. It's just Tiffany. But I'm funny like that. It's not a foy-yer but a foy-yay. Not nyk but nigh-key. And if you are going to swallow the price tag, might as well throw in the extra syllable and refer to it properly as a pour-sha instead of a porsh. I think this desire for proper terminology comes from finding my family's use of "chester drawers" was just a tad off. Don't even get me started on "you-tildie room" and "torlet". Then again, every once in a while I throw out "boughten", my own hybrid for those occasions when I cannot decide between saying "had gotten" or "had bought"; thus, I had boughten. I suppose we all have a touch of Lula Mae in us. Quel drag.
Perhaps due to Audrey as Holly, Tiffany holds a bit of allure for all of us. I recall the first time I went in to one. It was sort of like Fantasy Island; everyone had smiles. Everything sparkled. Everything was a tad out of my price range. I was there to exchange a gift. It just wasn't my style. And the things that were more of a fit were still beyond my dollar's reach, even with the exchange. After an extensive browse, I smiled and asked about the telephone dialer. The saleswoman tilted her head at me and furrowed her brow. Please. I wanted to tilt my head as well and say, "Look, lady. Borrow a sense of humor. You are in the Century City Mall Tiffany, not the one on Rodeo. Snobbery doesn't fly here. Ease up," but I didn't. I just batted my lashes asked her to please show me the key rings. I left with one rather cumbersome, U-shaped, heart-tag version of such, and a gift card for the remainder of my return.
There are many beautiful but very few practical things for me at Tiffany. So, the gift card stayed on my shelf for many moons. I considered it a boon when I discovered their appointment diary. See, I'm a pen-to-paper gal at heart. The worst thing I ever did was give up my Filofax. Had they kept making my coveted double-pen slot, money-sleeve and coin purse back, calf skin design (sorry PETA), I would still be on it (mine, after ten years, was beyond repair). But they no longer made what I needed. And there was a Palm Pilot on sale for less than the Filofax I was going to settle on (and the Palm Pilot was cute and matched my graphite Mac clam laptop). I've been forever ruined by that choice. Shortly there after, my life went on BlackBerry and my calendar quickly got screwed. I don't think BB and Entourage always get along. (Might be nice if RIM started actually supported Mac users.) After one too many pooch screwings (and having grown tired of writing everything down, putting it into my computer, then syncing the Berry in order to avoid accidental deletions), I decided it was best to keep appointments on paper. And so to Tiffany I went, gift card in hand, to get my "bible". That's what the appointment journal looks like. All 5.5"x8" of it in black leather (sorry again, PETA) and gilt-edged pages (or the silver version thereof). And I treat it as sacred.
For the past two years, that's where my life has been contained. It's a bit of a splurge, but it makes me happy. I jot down not only the appointments themselves, but notes on the day. Reactions. News. Since I've had this blog (for nearly eight years), I don't really keep a personal diary anymore (hello, redundant), so additional musings have been put on those Tiffany pages, mostly for my amusement.
While I was watching Holly and "Fred" go through the Tiffany aisles, I thought, "Merde. It's December already. I'd better get on the horn and order up a new bible. I mean, appointment journal." I've learned you can't call it a calendar. You can't even give out the measurements and price points to the people on the phone and expect them to find it. I found this out when I rushed over to the Century City store last year and was greeted with a pocket annual diary. So not in the same ballpark. Thus, I've learned the importance of specifics. I went to the website to get the order information. But my appointment journal wasn't there. Oh, they had the big one and the small one, but not the Goldilocks-just-right one for me. I called customer service. Perhaps it could be special ordered. Nope. It has been discontinued. I suppose the lack of order form in this bible should have been a clue. [Insert litany of curse words here.]
Not only will I have to spend twenty dollars more on the bigger annual desk diary version, but they don't even have it in black leather (I'm not apologizing anymore). Oh, they have black patent leather, but that's just too shiny. Oh, I could get it in pink leather, or Tiffany blue leather, but not in regular-leather black. Whaddafug? I mean, if you can't count on Tiffany for tradition and keeping classics classic, who can you count on? Who, I say! Pink leather? Come on.
I haven't placed the order yet. Still haven't made a decision on the red leather or black patent or to go back to Filofax (the Eton is as close as it comes to my old version...but at a steeper price tag...effing inflation). I have to bust a move soon, though, because my 2009 is already blowing up.