I know I haven't been around lately, but honestly, you wouldn't have wanted me. A raging case of extended PMS just ended, and I'm somewhat sane again.
I'm actually getting excited about my sister's wedding. She's having it in New Town. No one outside our immediate family lives in Texas, so it would be just as easy for them to fly here as Houston, and her fiance's family is flying in from the UK, and she would prefer them to see the scenery around New Town, than Houston. Houston isn't known for its scenery.
But I bought a dress which I love like anything. I'm like a kid. I keep peeking at it just to make sure it's as pretty as I remember. And it always is. It's sleeveless, ivory colored on top (plunging neckline, naturally) with a green band around the empire waist, and a black skirt and seems as if it's made out of some jersyish sort of material. It's a miracle my boobs fit into it. But it's very simple, which is just my style. I don't like fussy clothes with weird contours and complicated decorations. But I don't want to look frumpy either.
Gwennie and Emma are going to be flower girls and they're wearing the dresses my sisters wore as flower girls in my wedding. My mom never throws anything away. She gets it from her mother, and I get it from her. The Depression had longlasting effects.
Anyway, Gwennie tried on her dress at my mom's house and pronounced it "comfortable." You have no idea how profound this assessment is. If Gwennie deems something "uncomfortable," she is not going to wear it. I could beat her, bribe her, or lock her out of the house. My will would break first.
Emma is a completely different little person. If you told her she looked pretty, she'd wair a hairshirt and a crown of thorns. Must be very careful with that one. She's delicate and easily injured.
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