Long, long ago, in a subdivision not that far away, I had a dress...yes, just one. I did own some skirts, since these were compulsory female attire in high school back in the day. Anyhow, clothing options were limited by my parents' lack of finances. They had just purchased a house and funds were less than abundant. Like some people, they struggled, made sacrifices, and teens (specifically me) didn't complain or demand designer products. In fact, I doubt I even had a clue about designers. All I remember is the trendy Dr. Kildare and Ben Casey shirts and the penny loafers girls had that I often coveted.
So, someone made me a dress. I might have even made it myself, but since it wasn't lopsided, it probably wasn't me. I suspect it was a close friend of the family who came up with the most wonderful items for me to wear, gifts at birthdays and Christmases. Once, she even made me a gorgeous skating skirt so that I could spin and swirl as I glided up the frozen creek behind our house. Alas, I digress from the dress.
The dress was pale blue, A-line style, quite nice, and was made from a light weight summery fabric. It fit me well but it was plain. Very plain. The definitive word here being PLAIN. Nonetheless, I liked it. One day, I got a brilliant idea. Was there any reason I couldn't make the dress fancier? In fact, I could make it look as though I had a new dress. After mulling some ideas, and considering my limited teenage skill set, I had a thought.
It was summer vacation, so I took my paltry babysitting savings (35 cents an hour) and off I went to the closest two-story department store, Sayvette. Getting there required walking on the gravelly side of a dusty two lane road (facing traffic of course), to the closest town about 6 km away. Once there, I stepped on to the moving ramp which existed where an escalator would normally be. It was a great concept since shopping carts would lock into place until you reached your up or down destination. I made my way to the sewing/notions department where I purchased a few embroidery threads and a needle.
After my trek back home, I began my attack on the dress. I laid it out, drew a pattern and hoped all was properly centered. This is how I've always functioned with craft type endeavors. I assume I can do things and don't give it a lot of thought...just full steam ahead with the hope that it will turn out. I worked in secret for days and days. I was a rebel and did things first, knowing that asking permission would not necessarily elicit the desired response. On the other hand, it was MY dress.
After about three weeks, I was done. This is the only photo I've been able to unearth in my vast pile of slides and prints. I liked it and felt as though I had a new dress. Dad said it looked like it was covered in space aliens. So? What's the verdict? You tell me.
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