Ever since I can remember caring about formal wear, I’ve dreamed of wearing Vera Wang.Ã‚Â
When my book is adapted to a screen play and wins an oscar, I’ll be wearing Vera.
And if for some reason Ralph Lauren coaxes me into one of his confections for the red carpet, I’d like whomever is charged with outfitting me for my pre-funeral viewing to scour the earth for a Vera Wang suited for my demise.Ã‚Â I mean whenÃ‚Â person is dead, she gets to wear whatever she wants, right?
But knowing those two events may be far in the future (at least my death is, I’ll live to be a hundred, don’t ask me how I know.) I’ve found this little gem:Ã‚Â A Vera Wang mattress.Ã‚Â Imagine that, the cool, luxury of Vera Wang every freaking day!
But then I thought about it.Ã‚Â The blashphemy.Ã‚Â Ã‚Â
Do you think some Vera Wang peon moved ahead with the mattress project when Vera slipped out of the studio to sip a tall cool one?Ã‚Â A mattress?Ã‚Â Any object that, within a week of purchase, is home to mountains of dead skinÃ‚Â that has the unsettling ability to sprout limbs, crawl, build condos, startÃ‚Â PTA’s, soccer teams,Ã‚Â and give you asthma whileÃ‚Â tribes of microscopic fleas hide in the pillow-like material then feast on your body all night, should not bear the name of lovely Vera Wang.
So, you’re wondering why I would approve of Vera on my cold, dead body.Ã‚Â Well,Ã‚Â the exquisite shantung sheathÃ‚Â can be removed, cleaned and passed down to my favorite great-granddaughter with my diamonds and pearls.Ã‚Â Ã‚Â The curve-concious columnÃ‚Â burstsÃ‚Â forth withÃ‚Â glamour and history.Ã‚Â In light of all that,Ã‚Â its prior relationship with a corpse can be overlooked.
But the ongoing build-up of bodily yuck, even your own, is undignified for such classic splendor that always accompanies Vera’s good name.
Save yourself, dear Vera.