Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Colorful Vintage Print Maxi Dress

Oh my gods -- or lack of gods belonging to me -- the shame. It has happened. I clicked on this clickbait:


I blame the rain. I blame premature ovarian failure. I blame the month of November which is my least favorite month after February. (Sorry, Mom. I know that the gods-forsaken gritty leafless grey bleakness is the month of your 70th birthday, and when the birds are choosing their mates -- it's still not enough: bird mates. Plus its a myth.)

[Birds of Paradise Mating Dance, narrated by David Attenborogh.]

I have to gather and burn all my calling cards that are embossed Will Never Consider A Maxi Dress, Shine On You Crazy Diamond.

Maxi dresses are for the vacationing suburban mom's first trip to Marrakesh and I've. Never. Been. I broke up with a man in Jerusalem, though, after a very good street felafel. Does that count? A colorful vintage-print maxi dress would have been the thing to be in. Instead I was in my '90s Grunge/Swing Revival phase (amazingly not mutually exclusive) that led to an interesting Venn diagram that included lots of international travel. Hi there Venezuela. Cute #pabebe wave.

Perhaps I am turning into a Gypsy Queen. My mom is reading fortunes with her Gypsy Witch cards aboard a student ship now nearing Salvador, Brazil and my dad says she's been swamped.

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