This dress is two, maybe three sizes too small for me. With the tag still on, I pluck it from the front of my closet and fantasize about peeling off the back like a sardine tin and transplanting in several more inches of whatever fabric’s handy. For now, I drape the cinched bodice and unbuttoned limbs around my neck and start petting; this heavenly shade of golden muck is just so hard to find.
Love this one, AND I loved your response to the question that Duras' claim poses.
ReplyDeleteI think I have the opposite impulse: if I can't use the object, I cast it out. (Sometimes I save it in storage boxes for Lou, and thus, in that impulse, I think I echo your petting.)
I'm inconsistent. On a moment's whim, I toss, keep, dismember, dye, seal away, throw in a corner, move to a space closer or further from my daily routine, donate, share with trusted friends and the request to "keep it in the family,' or sometimes pile it on my body.
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