rs-forever's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The last of the pretty skirts I had some very pretty skirts from India. One of them was a frilly white skirt with pretty pink and green flowers. Another was a white silk skirt with an orange border. The white merged perfectly well into the orange. It had a beautifully embroidered fuchsia belt. The last one was a skirt my sister in law had gifted me. It was from her visit to Jaipur. After three years these skirts had no wear at all. They stayed in a suitcase, I recently labeled - India/Summer Clothes. This is in addition to the Winter Clothes suitcase. And all this is in addition to the clothes that I have outside and I wear (or do not regularly). It should not then be a surprise that the three pretty skirts had to go. But to go where? I like giving things to the Salvation Army, but these were too dear to go into a black hole. But Allie, our housemate is just about my size (or so I thought). I am a Size 0, she is a Size 4. But the skirts have elastics on them and would fit her. So I gave them to her. She loved them in a way only an American girl who studies Art can. She said the first one was so pretty, it is pink and green like a Watermelon. If she does not wear it, she might make something out of it. Or wait, maybe she could wear it as a dress. And all this while, I am busy trying to convince myself that giving them to her is something I wanted to do, and even if she describes them this way - all that they are - are skirts that will sit in the suitcase for the next who knows how many moves in the UHaul truck. So now they are Allie's. They are still on the couch. And every time I spot them, I tell them, you skirts are very pretty. And you will look prettier worn. I could have worn you, but I did not for three years, I don't think I would ever. Yes, you two skirts are from Globus and you skirt are from Jaipur. But that was in another life. In this life you just belong to a suitcase. I must have been mulling about this when: At which point it made sense to go sit in his lap and give him a kiss. How could I not? He says the nicest things in the quietest ways. 9:35 p.m. - 2009-11-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||