Sorting It All Out
A Faction (Fashion+Fiction) Episode Featuring Fashion Attorney Mariessa Terrell
In an effort to reduce the height of the mail tower that accumulates, as if by magic to the left of my front door, I decided to dedicate Friday between 12 and 2 am to sorting, shredding and filing. I’m up anyway pacing and strategizing on ways to infuse social justice into fashion law so it seems somehow fitting. Of course it’s still dark - but the lilluminated oversized “M” hanging proudly above my bed - bright, but not too bright, helps to lend a bit of party to an otherwise somber pre-dawn chore.
I’m dangerous, wielding an actual gold knife, part of an 8 piece Versace cutlery set gifted by my BFF, Simone Butterfly, Christmas 2015.
The knife, too beautiful for eating re-heated sides from DC’s finest carryouts makes the perfect gilded letter opener. The first envelope I slash bears a return address from Lori. Apparently she will buy Brookland homes for cash. “If had a nickel for every simulated letter- from a phantom homebuyer, I would not need to refinance,” I say a little too cynically to Paris Hilton Marie who is busy preening in front of the mirrored lingerie cabinet.
After about 20 minutes of ploughing through the pile, I begin to feel exasperated. My English breakfast tea was cold and the CLE that I was streaming on trademark licensing had ended.
I grabbed the last stack of mail intending to toss it into a box labeled “Someday is not a day of the week;" when to my amazement, the pile leaped out of my hand, scattering in a 180 degree radius just beyond the foot of my bed.
It’s 1 am now and the black tea has been replaced with coconut vodka from a black leather flask stashed next to the Armani Prive. That is when I saw it- a jubilant photo postcard of a magical stallion draped in daisies who refused to be bridled. I picked up the note and immediately laugh out loud.
Yoo Hoo Darling!
What ever you are doing right now…. S-T-O-P! I am sending you a plane ticket to Napa. Par Quoi? Because I’m celebrating what is left of summer and you need to sleep. Don't worry I won't mail the tickets. We both know that you will never find them in that mail tower near your front door.