Johnny Boden is a Dream

When I was in both elementary school and junior high I had an enormous crush on Ralph Macchio. And, as always the arbiter of good taste, I had pictures of him hanging all over my room. (He looked absolutely smashing next to my Strawberry Shortcake wallpaper, believe you me.) My sister Kari, on the other hand, had pictures of Boy George and Duran Duran. My other sister Tracy was apparently too dignified for such things, and opted to put her name, spelled in little pillows that she made in Home-Ec, across her wall. That being said, Tracy seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time yelling and threatening to literally kill whoever changed them from 'Tracy' to 'Ratcy'. Ahhh, that still makes me laugh. (Oh, and it was my brother Jim who was the culprit, by the way.)

Anyway, who qualifies as dreamy for me nowadays has changed a bit. Obviously I love Edward just as much as the next girl (yes, I realize I am practically old enough to be his mother). But you could also add to the list: Lyle Lovett, the lead guy in Bella, Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday, Peter O'Toole in How to Steal a Million, Bishop Eusebio (of the Seattle Archdiocese; don't judge me, I'm only admiring God's work), and Johnny Boden.

I suppose you should know that as I write this, it is thundering and lightening outside. Emilia has spent the day saying, 'Brrr! Noisy, Pouring, Rain!' But this storm really started yesterday: grey; dark; obscene amounts of rain; and so windy that the power went out last night. Today, lo and behold, has been more of the same. And it certainly doesn't help matters when you consider the fact that it now gets dark at 4:30 in the afternoon, thanks to daylight-savings' ending.

Knowing that the weather will be some variation on this theme until May (or thereabouts), it is easy to let it get you down; as it feels very heavy, and very bleak, and very dreary. And if you have a pre-disposed penchant for wearing a lot of black clothing, then you may as well throw the towel in now.

Enter Johnny Boden.

I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I still remember the first Boden catalogue I received in the mail. (Michael probably does too, as his list of hotties typically revolves around the Boden models — oh, and Sophia Loren.) We hadn't been living in our apartment in Bellevue very long, so it must have been about 8 years ago. (Yikes.) Anyway, it was their winter catalogue — and it was filled with color. That's right, I said it — color. It probably hurt my eyes, no doubt. But keep in mind that Michael had taken to calling me a ninja due to the amount of black I supposedly wore. So, after a pause, I opted to call the colors cheery rather than loud. And I still stand by it, all these years later. Somehow half my wardrobe seems to come from the pages of Boden. (The percentage goes even higher for Miss Milia — MiniBoden is fabulous, so cute and fits well.) Whereas the other half of my wardrobe is still black/grey/or jeans. All about balance, as I've said time and time again.

Truthfully, there is something about Boden that makes me smile. (Maybe now would be a good time to fess up to the fact that I don't know if I've ever actually seen a picture of my dreamy Johnny. But that is neither here nor there.) Anyway, I can't seem to put my finger right on it. Oh, that's a lie. Yes, I can. I like Boden because, not only is it cheery, it's also gorgeous clothing that completely caters to my anglophile side. (There, I've said it.) But I'm not the only one who appreciates the anglophile aspect. My mom was recently looking through my closet and pulled out a green polka-dot dress from last summer and immediately said, 'Oh, I love your spotty dress! Is it Boden?' To which we went on to discuss the many merits of Emilia's baggy turn-ups and her tea-pot top.

One of my most recent Boden favorites is my socks. (It is their dresses that I typically am willing to sell my soul over.) They are the perfect cheery splash of color to wear with my black/grey/jeans ensemble. (Note: I said ensemble — not uniform.) Anyway, they are the grown-up version of what Emilia wore last year — who, by the way, won't seem to leave my new ones alone. I suspect I should have ordered her a box of her own socks. In fact, why I haven't done that already is beyond me. So, if you'll just excuse me...