A Rag, A Bone

Oh, we all have one. I don’t think there is a woman in America, who doesn’t.

The wonderful classic black dress that we paid far, far too much for in time long gone by, and that would get us through any event, catastrophe or celebration.

It lingers lonely in a special garment bag at the very back of every closet we have ever owned. It travels everywhere with us, and is seldom worn.

It is our security blanket and insulation against “Not looking right.”

And when we remember exactly how much we paid for this seldom worn garment, we cringe, and hope no one ever knows.

But come the day, and it will, I promise, when the phone rings and THE INVITATION arrives, you are so glad you have this wonderful length of fabric that will suppress all your insecurities about wrinkles, weight and yes, the dreaded word, age.

You scurry to the back of the closet, pushing everything else quickly aside and find the bag, the one with the lavender draped around the hanger.

You hope, but keep your fingers crossed that it will not betray you. That age has not intruded despite the lavender shield, and that the length will still be appropriate.

And wonder of wonders, this extravagance of yesteryear still pays dividends.

The classic black sheath emerges intact from years of inactivity. It dons the facade of today and instills a confidence that makes every penny spent worthwhile.

And yes, there will be identical garments lurking in the crowd tonight, but each woman wearing one, will have an air of confidence that is only provided by the “one black dress” each of us owns.

And then behold, the ladies fair.