Some things cost way too much...

Black with charcoal grey swirls and long sleeves gathered at the wrist. Eight buttons circled by fabric loops parade down the fitted front, to just above the waist, where the sheer fabric flows out ever so slightly, to wave across sashaying hips. Flat, collarless neckline, offset by tiny ruffles that march alongside the buttons.

The first and last time I wore the blouse, it was around this time last year. It was paired with dark designer jeans and these shoes:

Feminine, beautiful, delicate. Dry Clean Only.

We went to Cheuvront for a bite to eat and thought we would see a movie afterward. I remember Jeremiah greeting us as we came in and he told me I looked great, then seated us at the table by the bar.  There was a group of women sitting nearby wearing that “groomed-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives” look.  I giggled when one of them ordered the “pra-skew-too” & fig tart. You didn’t notice as you were busy checking email on your phone.

A James Bond film was playing in French on the screen off to our right.  The one with Domino in it. You searched for movie times for “Slumdog Millionaire” after Jeremiah said he saw it and thought it was good. The reviews you had found during dinner were mixed. My French was too rusty but I had already seen Thunderball a hundred times, so I was able to follow along. We hurriedly finished our meal so we could catch the 10:15 show.

The remainder of that evening, after the movie, no longer exists in my mind. Not by choice. I suspect there was nothing remarkable about it. There is only a hazy image of the blouse, crumpled and tucked into my overnight bag.  Unappreciated, and duly discarded.

I finally wore the blouse again. To work, on Monday this week. Over a faded, black thermal shirt, well-worn jeans with frayed cuffs, and these shoes:

Rebellious, powerful, quirky.  Machine Wash Cold.