“What bad luck!” declared his neighbours.
“Perhaps,”the farmer replied.
Not long after, the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses.
“Such good luck!” his neighbours sang in chorus, congratulating him.
“Perhaps,” said the farmer.
While attempting to tame one of the wild horses, the farmer’s son was thrown and broke his leg.
Enter neighbours: “Ah! Luck’s not on your side!” they chimed.
“Perhaps,” shrugged the old man.
The following day, military officials marched through the village, enlisting young men into the army. Upon seeing the young man’s broken leg, the officials exempted him from the draft.
“You lucky chap!” the neighbours insisted.
“Perhaps,” said the old man.
My personal parable has nothing to do with wild horses and dodging the draft. My story is of the simple misfortune of my car engine locking on me in the middle of the road, and that misfortune giving me the good fortune of knowing the kindness of a friend. As it is impossible to survive in this city without wheels, I was lucky enough to become adoptive mother to my friend’s 1995 Ford Ranger pickup truck, Bessie, while Maria, my Mini, was out of commission for a month. What was the sense in mourning my luck, when luck is such a fickle thing? Instead, each time I mounted that beat-up old jalopy of a vehicle in my 5 inch heels, I did so with the sure-footed pride of one who knows she’s got friends who’ve got her back. A coat of Mongolian lamb fur doesn’t hurt the pep in one’s step either.
If only I could have handled my shrinking of this versatile and ultra-comfy wool dress (that my friend knitted me) into a slab of inelastic felt with that same brand of equanimity I did my carlessness. I mean, there are misfortunes and then there are laundry misfortunes, am I right? And we all know laundry misfortunes are delicate tumble tragedies.
What I Wore: Custom-knit alpaca wool sweater, Mongolian Lamb jacket, Jimmy Choo boots, Chanel sunglasses, Yves Saint-Laurent “Arty”ring.
Photos by Kennyatta Collins
Makeup by Yolanda Parrish