No, that’s not Kanye’s next baby name.
Easter fashion has always been an entity unto itself.
I recall a certain purple gingham maxi dress I wore one Easter when I was eight or so. Then there are those I-dare-you- to-wear-me deranged Easter bonnets. I hold that the purpose of these is to provide ample nesting materials for local bird life.
This year, I was struck by nothing so much as the pastel floral number worn by a lovely young lady whose parents I hope were far, far away. Because this is the stuff of cardiac events.
Daughter in question chose to celebrate the resurrection of her personal lord and savior (or possibly the end of Passover? Larry Flynt’s birthday?) by sporting the always appropriate vagina-length stretch dress.
At what point, I mused while trying to come up with a sentence I could say out loud that did not contain the term “vagina-length dress,” did she become comfortable wearing said hemline? Probably best that I never learn. Though I am toying with a scenario where the girl is a rebelling Amish-ette, taking things just a bit too far…or not far enough.
I do feel that my experience could give rise to one of those helpful questions one might ask oneself while shopping, dressing, or contemplating cutting off part of a dress: “Will anyone look at me and think ‘vagina-length?'”
And, while you’re at it, say a prayer for my computer. It doesn’t know what the hell to wear.