Nothing can make me feel more like a girl than a gorgeous dress. I know it is odd to hear the Yankee fan, dire hard college football, wear no make up on Sunday gal loves a nice dress, but it’s true. It is the dress up part of me, the feminine side you could say.
I swat here by the bed in my new pink party dress and dnky mules trying to capture the moment of how pretty I feel. Swatting is even pretty in this dress. My make up has been washed off for the evening and my hair…we are not even going to talk about my hair. Here I am in alone in my room twirling in front of the window with only a vague reflection back but the top of the city contrasting myself.
It is the dress I searched months for prior to my 30th birthday and could not find. Don’t get me wrong; Marc Jacobs served his duty well for my lavish festivities. But this year, in the party dress, I have no plans. I have birthday proper off work, the only day that week actually.
I have thought about making a reservation at a restaurant I have always wanted to try 21 Club. It has the jockeys outside of it and is rumored to be courted by the celebs.
I have this image of sitting alone with a glass of champagne everyone wondering who I am and why I am dining alone. Maybe a handsome man will come over and ask. I’ll explain that it is my birthday. He’ll send over a birthday cake to my embarrassment and glee. We will go dancing in my pink dress and it will flutter gently with the momentum of the moment.
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