What she wore when
July 28, 2009
What she wore when they met was a red shirt, grey high-waisted trousers and green braces. He was wearing khakis and a pale denim shirt. A work shirt is what they’re called, though his work was all in his head, not his hands.
What she wore after he broke up with her after three months was a pair of socks and a diaphragm. She added a bathrobe when she opened the front door and pushed him out into the hall.
What she wore when they married two years later was a tea length gown from Paris, a pillbox hat with a tiny veil, white silk gloves and a look on her face that told anyone who knew her that she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She was walking in uneven steps down a long white runner that was slippery beneath the soles of her new pumps. Her parents flanked her, her father too tall to link arms comfortably, her mother a trembling burden on her right arm, all three of them breathing heavily as they failed to glide in step.
…to be continued.
What I was wearing when I started this blog
July 7, 2009
. . . was a faded grandad tee and a pair of old leggings, ripped at the knee. The kind of stuff you throw on when you’re starting something you don’t quite understand, that’s outside your comfort zone: intellectual workout clothes.
What I was wearing 