Gowns and Goals
Her gown was like a rose: pearly pale-pink with the feel of nobility; mine was goldenrod with a royal blue trim. Hers was plush, yet airy and playful; mine was heavy, worn, and steeped in tradition. She unboxed hers in the living room with joyful whimsy; I released mine from the plastic bag trap in which it hung, sandwiched among old coats and dresses in a rarely visited closet packet with baseball cards, vinyl records, old shoes and such. We dressed… she giggled… then we walked down the well-traveled staircase to make our grand entrance and greet those in audience. Her gown never fails to fill her with delight. When I first got mine, it thrilled me... but, I confess, my delight has wained. And if I were honest: As of late, I couldn’t care less about my gown. That is, I couldn’t have cared less until she started to wear hers and I started to wear mine at the many spontaneous events we attended together. Her gown is magical and filled with possibilities....