I bought it with my friend's encouragment. I may not get to wear it. Out. I may not get to wear the dress out in public. Man, I look good in that dress. Sort of Audrey Hepburn. If she were to ever have a nightmare and end up glistening sweat in the Houston suburbs on a warm summer night. But I can put it on and dance around the living room with the girls. "Mama, you look pretty." "Yeah, Baby, I do." A girl should know when she looks pretty. All girls. Any age.
So maybe no smiles over candlelight. No gazes through eyelashes. The hope of that seems too much. But maybe I'll flop across my bed after I tuck in those little angels and sleep in it and dream something fantastic. It's only ebroidered cotton. God, I love what it means. Belted. Sleeveless. Gathered. Knee-length. Sexy. Independent. Flirty. Pretty. This dress screams "can you help me with this zipper?" Damn. I look good in it, too. Even glistening sweat. Especially like that. Southern, suburban Audrey Hepburn. I'm out in it. In my dreams anyway.
5 comments:
Feeling feminine, woman, lady. A dress to dress the part. When I am attempting to deny that part of me in order to simply survive it always seems that something comes along to remind me of that very crucial part of me that is all woman with all of her variations, needs and desires.
Enjoy your dress, Maleah.
Sounds lovely. :)
Dang Maleah!
I am serious, you gotta watch you don't start catching stuff on fire!
But I am pleased to hear you know how to treat a good dress. Dresses love to be danced in, and to be felt beautiful in.
Just watch fire hazards is all.
~Dawn
Susan, you pretty thing. Go buy a dress.
Kate, it is. sigh.
Dawn, I hope to catch someone, er something on fire in that dress... thanks.
Good words.
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