When a gal treats herself to a new dress . . .

and not just any new dress,

but a new dress she's dreamed of owning for a lot of years.



A dress to be envied by Flappers (and other fun loving women).



I think I was actually supposed to have been born in the 20s.



In Paris.



That's the time and place I have always enjoyed reading about most.


If you don't get what I mean, now's the time for you to watch my favorite movie - 






I was, I think, meant to be carousing around with ex-pats like Gerald and Sara Murphy,  Hadley and Ernest Hemingway, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.


That whole "lost" generation who had become disillusioned with the world.  


I think I should have been one of those folks sitting in on Gertrude Stein's salons, eating one of Alice Toklas' brownies.


I would have eaten madeleines with Ezra Pound.


I would have danced next to Josephine Baker, shared absinthe with Picasso, Chagall, Bonnard and Matisse. 


I would have borrowed and swapped scarves with Isadora Duncan.


I would have been in a book club with T. S. Eliot, John Dos Passos, Archibald MacLeish and slept in Sylvia Beach's attic.


I would have sat atop Cole Porter's piano singing loudly with Djuna Barnes.


And I would have worn dresses just like this one - - - 

• 

Since <sigh> I was not able to do any of those things with any of those people, I'm settling for the dress.

And this sweet fun dress is going to Paris with us this year.

And I will wear it when Donald and I have our 1920s Paris photo shoot with Genevieve.

And who knows where else I might wear this fancy little number . . . 

If I'm caught singing while perched atop a piano in Montmartre, I'll try to post a photo.