cocktail dress, I can only say this: Wow. I mean WOW. Here, in the sea of elementary kids crushing each other to get outside to find that person waiting at the door who will escort them home on foot, or to the vehicle lined up in the stop-drop-and-go line, there you stand like a beacon of liberty in the Leave-it-To-Beaver mundane world of “what’s for snack” during the afternoon witching hour.
The dress, billowy enough to keep you cool in the heat, has sequins that do tend to look a tad off in the afternoon sun (not to mention the fact that they distinctly clash with the taupe and green of the playground equipment), but the sequins do hint at the possibility that maybe this afternoon doesn’t really have to be so ordinary after all.
I do so appreciate you ignoring my repeated attempts to strain my neck to get a better glimpse at your getup; but I was merely trying to figure out if those were real jewels around your neck. Now I realize it was simply a tattoo. A tattoo, that I might add, perfectly complements the colors of your gown.
Although, as the mother of four boys, I do excel at multitasking, I did find it difficult to continue the chatter with my toddler in the stroller, while steering the stroller clear of oncoming walkers, trying to get in front of the door before the final bell, and waving to people who were saying “Hi,” while checking you out – while still trying to see if the drivers in those minivans and SUVs were equally enchanted with your gown. I couldn’t really tell if I was the only one noticing. No one that said “Hi” seemed to notice; and I began to wonder if I was looking at a mirage. Maybe you weren’t really there.
But then, I saw you again, on an entirely different day. So I know you’re real.
I’m wondering if you might be pregnant, because of that slight little bump in your dress. Of course, I would never ask; but if you are, I applaud your efforts to maintain “the goddess” within you, and not succumbing to Birkenstocks, husband’s t-shirts, and pregnant overalls. You look radiant.
Still, I’m not sure if you’re the nanny, or the Mommy. The only reason I even suspect that maybe you’re not the Mommy is that you seem too relaxed and carefree. As if the “afternoon witching hour” is a foreign concept to you. I’ve never met such a Mom. If that’s the case with you, I’m signing up for Mommy lessons. Not only do you have “style” but you’ve got the attitude to match.