THE MORPHING MAVEN

The morphing maven is always redefining herself. She has done it all, and now she is doing something else, some other variation on her theme. Next thing you know, she’s mastering crab cakes and throwing dinner parties for 15 showcasing her talents to the pure delight of her guests, and then she’s diving into pottery classes with ferocious focus and fermented sarcasm to create vessels so organic in shape as to make Pablo Picasso wail with envy. And her style changes every other day. One day she’s all punk, with pink hair flowing amongst her clothes and every square inch strapped in solid accessories. The next day, she’s strutting her high heels through the lobby in a rented evening gown that would turn any queen green with envy. Then she puts on massive shades and a straw hat with feathers that make people double-take on the street. You know she joined tap dancing classes at the community centre last year. Picture this: the middle-aged woman tapping like Fred Astaire, doing jazz hands at the coffee break—the spectacle that anyone dropping by would witness. We all love her because we admire the risk she takes in trying each new thing with pure gusto.