White Dress

Friday, May 15, 2015

Today I am grateful for a white dress. . .sort of. Our gorgeous mixed race granddaughter, Anja, is having a huge Sweet 16 party this weekend. Last week, in a chat on Facebook with her mom, I learned everyone is supposed to wear white.

Me: White? Isn’t my skin white enough?

Her: Nope. Not this time. All white.

Me: You do know that fat white women shun white like spandex two sizes to small, don’t you?

Her: White.

Me: Grandpa, too? He’ll look like a milkman.

Her: Grandpa, too.

Me: What about a toga? Toga’s are white.

Her: That’s fine.

Me: Okay, but only for Anja. Geeze.

So himself and I went out to several stores. He loves this because about 10 years ago I threw away his only pair of white(ish) pants and he’s missed them as much as his bowling ball than never left Wisconsin. Until now. Now he wants white pants. To wear when golfing. So we went to Kohls and no problem, except they aren’t very white. I hate men. Pulled them from the shelf and bam! They fit!

I figured we were on a roll so we headed over to Ross to see if there might be something for me. I snatched a couple of white things off the racks and headed for the dressing room. One lacy thing actually fit. Until I turned around and the back was 27 inches shorter than the front and the front wasn’t long. Okay. I can’t back up all night going beep-beep so no way.

I tried on another gauzy thing and looked like an Egyptian mummy. No worries, I’ll try the knit. Shove a long stick up my butt and hold me over the fire, why don’t you? I was a puffy marshmallow, just before it burns. Enuff!

Then I realized that a deep white (that’s my story) dress I had made in Jakarta might work. At least no one will try to roast me! I hope. Only for a grandchild. Only!

Z.