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Guest Post: Is Imitation the Sincerest Flattery, or am I a Stalker?

Not Deb, nor the glasses she chose.

Hello dearest readers,

My writer friend, Deb, asked if she could guest post on my blog. Sure, I said. Send me something.

Well, I didn’t really say that because she included her story in the e-mail. The e-mail that she sent when she asked if she could guest post on my blog. It was cute. The story that she wrote, not the e-mail. Though that was cute, too. Deb is a good writer, a very good writer. 

So here is Deb’s story – and she’s sticking to it. 

Bada bing, bada boom. Here ’tis. Voila. 

Just post the story, Pam!

Okay – from here on out, it’s all Deb. Deb’s show. Houghton, out!

That was a bit much, wasn’t it. Okay. NOW. Houghton, out! And I mean it this time! 
First of all, thank you to Pam for letting me guest post here at “Soul Searching at Starbucks.”  I like Starbucks, and sometimes I soul search.  Also, while I think Pam is awesome, I’d like to note that I’m not stalking her.  Even if I am hitching onto her blog today.  And I’m married. Like Pam .  And I have two children: girl first, boy next.  Like Pam.  And I live in the same city and shop a lot at Target. Like Pam. Not a stalker. Still.
Anyhow, now that we’ve cleared that up, I still am wondering: where does that whole “imitation is the sincerest flattery” cross over into “Single White Female” creepiness, because I’m afraid this fall, I may have crossed that line.  Over a pair of eyeglasses.
Let me explain.  I am a redhead.  This is relevant to the story, since we redheads, although blessed with a nifty natural hue of hair follicle, tend to have pretty weird coloring overall.  Things that work for other folks—i.e.: a red dress is sexy, vroom!—don’t work for a redhead.  (Yes, I know, little orphan Annie wore a red dress, but you know what? When I saw Annie emerge from the staircase wearing that color, I knew secretary Grace had made a big, hot mess of a mistake.  She should have put her in green.)
Something like eyeglasses is no exception to this rule.  Those tortoise shell frames that look so librarian-chic on the Tina Fey type brunettes look something crazy awful on me.  So again, I need to shop outside the norm if I want those librarian-chic but not for Tina Fey eyeglasses.
Like the ones I recently saw perched on the nose of another mom at a PTO meeting.  The ones I immediately knew I had to try on.
“Hi, I’m Debbie,” I said, by way of both introduction and stalker ice-breaking.
“I’m Amber.” (This is not her real name.)
“I love your glasses.  Where did you get them?  Where is that located?  What brand are they?  What is your prescription?  What is your dress size?”
Okay, I didn’t ask all those questions, just the first two.  Or maybe three.  But I was already feeling like a crazy.
She graciously told me where she got the eyeglasses.  I was there within days.  (I was in the market for new specs.) I couldn’t find hers on display.  Darn!
“Are you looking for something in particular?” the helpful store associate asked.  I explained my story, and then the woman asked, “Do you know this woman’s name?  Maybe we can do some reconnaissance.”
Okay, the associate didn’t actually use the word reconnaissance, but she actually diddo some stalker-like detective work for me.  I gave her the first name of PTO Mom-with-great-specs, then perused my iPhone for emails that might have included this woman’s last name.  (You get emails after those PTO meetings.)  I told her what city she lived in.
“We have an Amber Smith.  Does that sound about right?” And then she added, pulling a file.  “Hmm, maybe I shouldn’t have given you a last name.”
(I’ve refrained from using the store’s name, because again, what sounds somewhat sketchy did result in my knowing what exact frame and frame colors this woman had.  And then they ordered them for me. Yippee!  Great job, stalky-eyeglass store!)
When they came in, yep, I loved them.  Ordered them with the correct prescription lens.  Wore them all happy-happy home.  Told my husband the story.
“You know you can’t wear those around the school or that Mom will think you’re psycho,” he said.
Shoot.  Yeah.  Plus I’m not sure I’m ready to see myself in one of those “Who wears it better” show downs.
Is imitation the sincerest form of flattery?  Or am I a stalker?
Have you ever purchased exactly what someone else was wearing?

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