My coworkers are besting me no matter what. My neighbor in room 111 is wearing a wig and a red flapper dress. She is so totally '20s. Another coworker is wearing 80s spandex in neon brights. I am completely trashed by my former teammate (now grade 6 -- traitor!) who dresses up superbly as Punky Brewster.I go with something more sedate. I decide to be mid-70s ... just past the Indian muslin shirt and embroidery phase but not quite out of the purple cotton print phase. I grab a maxi-length sun dress, complete with the elastic band bust line, layer it over a purple shirt, and add in my army-green lace-up high-heeled Granny boots over tall socks. I let the hair air-dry today, frizzing it up as much as I can as it goes -- not big like the 80s, though; I never could make that hair happen. (We call that Methuen Hair because the Methuen girls used up enough hair spray to pollute entire continents.) I intend to add a wooden and silver beaded choker to the look, but I opt for giant gold hoop earrings, instead. I figure I'm as good to go as I'll ever be.
My youngest teeters down the stairs to start his morning pre-work routine. Half asleep, he looks at me wide-eyed. "Jesuschrist," he gasps, "WHAT are you WEARING?"
I smile. "It's Decades Day. Do I look 70s enough?"
He frowns. "Yeah, you look like you're about to take acid."
Excellent! I guess I really have reached back to the 70s. I give him a quick double-thumbs-up, grab my car keys and stuff myself and my giant maxi dress into the front seat of my small vehicle. It's going to be a good day, and, if I avoid getting in an accident and having to go to the ER like this, it'll be a great day.
