The Ms. Frizzle of Vice
The fact that my mother would never speak to me again…
…was the only thing that could have kept me from making this my very own. That, and I was stuck in traffic through the end of the auction. Physical, hair-rending, might-as-well-turn-your-engine-off freeway traffic. I feel like the force of my will would have overcome anything less than physical distance between me and my desktop dress-acquiring machine.
I didn’t even get a bid in. It was months ago. I have not recovered. Not at all.
Why all the fuss, you ask? An excellent question. But really, who wouldn’t love to slip into a flawlessly-tailored cocktail dress from the fabulous, fabulous 1940s? Shrug out of your coat at a party and pick up a drink from a tray… 
…with five smoldering lady-finger cigarettes glittering across your chest. Five of them, five little hand-sewn sequined tips, five beaded wisps of smoke. And a box of matches sitting there on my shoulder.
I want it
I want it
I want it
I would have worn it with dice in both pockets, a tumbler of whisky hanging from each ear and shoes made of money.
I more than want it I actually NEED it..this dress is so me. As a matter of fact I think I will take a sewing class and actually learn how to make it, I need/want it so badly.
Oh why oh why did you post this, now I’ll be up all night thinking about this perfect item of clothing
xx
And I would dearly love to see the result. And then STEAL it from you.
Very glad to know someone else is in acute pain out there over this little item. Sigh. Now that there are two of us, we just have to find the current owner and rely on strength in numbers, right?
Oh, the glorious naughtiness of poultry stowaways under the piano! Dice in the pockets and shoes made of money! Your finest work yet, perhaps.
My favorite chicken when I was wee was Johanna, who I think must have been a great big barred rock. Black and white lines like she was swaddled in newspaper print. And my, was she the loveliest henny penny in the whole wide world- she was perfectly content to get dressed up in dolly’s clothes and cradled in the arms of us little girls. A hen can make the finest companion, in my opinion, and your Fatty has swiftly won my heart. I still love Pocket, though, because she makes cooing sounds when she sits in that teacup, mes non?
What are your girls, btw? Buff Orpingtons? My oh my you just satiated my chicken fix. My husband thanks you. And we won’t tell bout Fatty in the house. Lips are sealed.