July 2, 2004
In my closet hangs a short black and white dress made of a flimsy fabric that I think, if boiled, would yield a thick oily substance that could not attach itself to dry skin but would, instead, roll off it like mercury beads from a broken thermometer scattered across a cold tile floor. I used to wear this little dress with enormous pride. It was the one dress I felt cutely sexy in, the dress I would wear with a date I wanted to seduce. Now when I look at it, though, I wonder, "What the fuck was I thinking?"