Inspirations: Keep his hands to himself? No. I think not. July 31, 2008 16:22
Simplicity 1754, circa 1930s
Red shirtdresses send me. (And I need to be sent, considering the roofing drama.) One of my first grown-up dressy dresses was a red jersey shirtdress that Mam made me. I felt sophisticated when I slipped it on. So alluring. Boys loved it, even the sexy and so much older (Four years. Oh. My.) preacher’s son. Red is exciting. Red captures your attention. Red captures his attention. Think of stop signs. Think of red lights. Think of him, pausing, then focusing on you. Only you.
Those in the know insist that red is stimulating, that it makes us feel protected from fear and anxiety. (Ahhhhh. I’ll have to wear red tomorrow when I take scissors to my muslin. My heart is beating faster just thinking of it — the cutting, not the red top I may indeed wear. Now that I’ve thought of it.) And of course, we all know that red is the color of love. Think Valentines. On the other hand, we never want our bank balances to be in the red. They must be in the black. Firmly. Mmmmmm. Red is a dichotomy. And this scarlet dress not only has buttons which you know he’ll be ever so eager to undo, and the sexy skirt, (I can feel his hand, ever so slightly callused, sliding under it even as I type) it also has those sleeves. Commanding. Dramatic. Elegant. With that victorious cuff. Pointing to the sky. Yummy. This isn’t just your ordinary shirtdress. It’s special. Really. Look at me. But mind your manners. At least above the table.