January 25, 2010
“Oh Honey, I can see that!” said my pal Steven when I told him that if left unchecked, my sartorial bent tends towards the costumey. My mother was a seamstress and thus an outrageous enabler. Since she could sew anything I could dream up, I went through my pirate-poet stage, with sleeves the size of spinnakers, all the way up to my Stevie Nicks phase with huge, gauzy handkerchief skirts. Even now, at the height of my Crouching Tiger cum Sprockets period I must censor myself so people will talk to me. Thank Christ I don’t work in a bank.