The Little Black Dress
May. 30th, 2005 01:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lurkittyToday I had to dress up and go out to the veteran's memorial and lay a wreath in my official capacity as Worthy Matron of my Eastern Star chapter. This being a memorial service, and having been taught to wear formal black to memorial services, I wriggled into my +4 little black dress (LBD). Every woman should have an LBD with some plus to charisma, I have decided mine is about +4. It has a few gold beads along the neck and at the bottom, and a discrete beaded sheath that I wore at the service so as not to appear too, er, well, slutty. Sheer black stockings and, of course, spike heels (bad choice – they dig into the lawn). A glance in the mirror before I go. Wait a minute. Who took my reflection and replaced it with someone pretty? Even other people were giving me compliments today.
I had always convinced myself my disdain for makeup and other accoutrement of girlishness were due to having grown up in the 60's and 70's. I was letting my freak flag fly. That the alpha female of our four sister pack was a fashion model and my mother was giving me the “late bloomer “ lecture well into high school because I couldn't get a guy to even look at me are facts that lay conveniently buried in my psyche.
Though buried, or perhaps because of it, that worm worked its damage. Disdain for accoutrement became disdain for self. Exactly when I convinced myself that my charisma could be rolled on two dice and no more, I don't know.
Today I will give myself four dice and throw out the low roll – heck – I'll let Ron roll for me. His characters are always pretty.
I had always convinced myself my disdain for makeup and other accoutrement of girlishness were due to having grown up in the 60's and 70's. I was letting my freak flag fly. That the alpha female of our four sister pack was a fashion model and my mother was giving me the “late bloomer “ lecture well into high school because I couldn't get a guy to even look at me are facts that lay conveniently buried in my psyche.
Though buried, or perhaps because of it, that worm worked its damage. Disdain for accoutrement became disdain for self. Exactly when I convinced myself that my charisma could be rolled on two dice and no more, I don't know.
Today I will give myself four dice and throw out the low roll – heck – I'll let Ron roll for me. His characters are always pretty.
