Monday, May 7, 2012

Bohemian Rhapsody

Everyone I know who's moved from Morocco does it and I am no exception. A last minute panic has set in and I feel the need to shop for all thing Moroccan. As if I can take a piece of Morocco with me by doing this. Who am I kidding? I want pieces of Morocco. You know, brightly painted tables, antique carved doors, protective hamsa necklaces and patinaed metal lanterns. I want them all. But can I possibly get it all before the movers come to pack it all up to go home? The amazing race has just begun.

Last week a friend of mine was talking about what was on her amazing race list. And she mentioned the one item her daughter wanted to get before they left Morocco. Faith and I guffawed as she told us. With a mixture of sheer disbelief mixed with a bit of horror I muttered, "That's ridiculous! Are YOU kidding me?"

When Faith and I went to Essaoira we saw them everywhere. And we mocked them everywhere. Until the last day of our trip when we saw them in a whole new light. Stripes. She mentioned casually that with stripes it kinda worked. I was thinking the same thing, but I treaded cautiously unsure if this was a setup for more mocking. I think we were both serious. Or at least I was. Somehow their hideousness had grown on me. But we were leaving our beach vacation and headed to Rabat where I was positive they didn't sell them.

Back in Rabat, Craig and I headed to the medina. There were prodigious ancient doors and picayune chairs.


Sleepy stray medina cats.


And then there they were. Harem pants. Otherwise known as, MC Hammer pants, Turkish trousers, aladdin pants or 7 day pants, because you have enough room in the crotch for about 7 days of crap. Depending how much fiber you have in your diet of course. Craig was both shocked and horrified. Which of course I understood, because I felt exactly the same a week ago. But I bought them anyway. I justified my purchase explaining that I can use them for belly dance.  Which gave him the assurance he needed to believe he'd never see me in them. Ever.


But guess who took this picture.  Bingo.  Craig.  Turns out, all that mattered to him was he could still see the silhouetto of my ass...
Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango?
Thunderbolts and lightning - very very frightening me
Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo, Galileo Figaro - magnifico-o-o-o

Ok, so I probably pulled off Bohemian Rhapsody as well as I pulled off those pants. But that's not the end of the story. When I take off my Moroccan MC Hammer pants, I see the label.


And I realize, I could've bought these pants at any head shop in Anytown, USA. And if I just put on a croched hat and some funky beaded jewelry and stop shaving my arm pits and wearing deodorant (wait, I already do that)....

Oh my god, I'm going to fit in perfectly in Manitou Springs when we get back to Colorado!

7 comments:

Cerebrations.biz said...

Don't you love it- when the authentic is nothing but veneer...

Just remind Craig, he has a harem of one. That's all he needs- and maybe more than he can handle!

Janine said...

You crack me up!

Leah Griffith said...

You are going to be so bored with the clean US department stores and their predictable merchandise. Morocco has ruined you. Your eyes have been opened to the other world that exists outside the walls of Target and Old Navy. LOL!!
Those pants are pretty wild. Actually I'm thinking of getting a pair. You're such a trend setter;)

Blissed-Out Grandma said...

Nothing is what it seems. But the pants look great on you anyway!

Christina Williams said...

That is too funny! Well, good luck with the move and getting settled again.

Dangerous Linda said...

Hi, Marie! ~

Big changes on the horizon, right? Will you continue blogging when you move back to the states?

Kinda reminds me of first grade when I met a little girl at my new school who had a cast on her arm. The day she had it removed I didn't know who she was anymore because it was the only way I'd known her!

Who will you be when your not Ms. Rock the Kasbah???

Chantel said...

Ha! Every woman needs Harem pants, babe! My husband bought me this lovely harem-esq silver anklet with tinkling bells--and then one day when I was listening to our cat run around with the bell on his collar to tell us where he was....was that what my anklet was for? Was my husband TRACKING me??

Yes. He totally admitted it. And then he bribed me with jasmine oil to keep wearing it. *sigh* It's on as I sit here sipping coffee.

You'd better thank your lucky stars they don't make harem pants with bells on them...

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