Tomorrow night I'm going with some of my favorite ladies to see this show and I'm pretty excited about it. It's, obviously, a theatrical extravaganza: part concert, part play, part dance marathon, all set in the Depression. I love the Depression, and the audience is encouraged to dress up, so I can't wait to see it all.
But here's my tale of woe, the proverbial dustbowl of my soul. This dress. I got it at a flea market years ago, knowing that it's basically unwearable. But it's so heartbreakingly, achingly beautiful. It's from the thirties, and it's cotton lace with silk chiffon at the neckline and crepe de chine lining and, oh, how I adore it. It would be more than perfect to wear tomorrow night, but the lining is shredded, as well as some of the chiffon. If I even attempted to put it on, let alone wear it, I would destroy it. The lining is as fragile as a cobweb. I tried to fuse the rips in the lining, but it was hopeless. Even putting it, gingerly, on the mannequin, shredded it further. The only hope would be to replace the lining, except then the shredded chiffon would be the weak link. I've resigned myself to gazing forlornly at it, and dreaming of remaking it anew someday.