Or perhaps I would have preferred something a little more modern. Falling to the knees with a fringe, the scarlet is now faded but the strings of beads still have a tiny bit of luster left in them. Once this was a dress of jazz and dancing and pack upon pack of cheap cigarettes. A tag is sewn in at the collar, loopy stitches make embroidered letters, "Zelda." The last night it was worn, Daisy was born.
Then there is one of my favorites, a white expanse of light cotton with a trim green ribbon for a belt. The skirt is so wide that no one can approach within a foot and a half of the wearer. There is a straw had with matching ribbon, and perhaps a stray raven hair stuck to the hatpin. This dress saw simpering and tears and then was locked away in a Hollywood prop closet, while the world realed from the impropriety of a gentleman who dared to state that he didn't give a damn.
Perhaps all I want is a simple black dress with an aline skirt. It would fall just below my knees and look smashing with a pearl necklace and a morning bagel, and of course it would go with Tiffany's darling. I would wear my hair pulled up high on my head and throw parties the likes of which this small town has never seen. In the end however, it would be me and my nameless cat and a bathtub for a couch.
I swoon over these dresses, I would give a year of my life to just touch any of them. But today, if you asked me what I would most like to own I would answer decisively without a moment's hesitation. There is an old red sweatshirt with embroidery down the front. It is at least three sizes two big, I could comfortably wear it as a dress of it's own. It smells like dreams and warm summer nights and tears; but the good kind where I know I have something amazing that I just don't know what to do with. That is the softest most wonderful article of clothing that I could imagine, and I would trade in anything in the world to have it again.
