Perhaps a scrap

[mrissa]

I have been accused, more than once, of having not a scrap of romance in my soul. And I have cheerfully agreed with this accusation, indeed, not a scrap, tra la.

But today I got a nightgown I've been wanting since I was 10 years old. Perhaps since I was 8: that is, when I was 8, I wanted this kind of nightgown when I grew up, and when I was 10, I decided I was grown up enough to want it. (I was the height I am now, and nearing the cup size I am now at an alarming rate, and I thought that should have some privileges. And dammit, it should have.) It's very light cotton, long and white and has just ribbon straps at the shoulders. It floats. It will likely wrinkle at the merest thought. But it's...umm...all standing-at-the-casements like. You could be kidnapped by the Fair Folk in such a nightgown.

(I probably wouldn't be. Being myself, I would probably have the luck to be kidnapped by the Fair Folk in my glasses and one of my old physics department T-shirts, the ones that have been washed into softness and barely cover my butt and prominently feature a large psi on each nipple, having been designed by -- go figure -- male members of the department. I have never once heard of an Underhill kidnapping wherein they put an intended changeling back because her butt was insufficiently covered. Nor even because her garment did not waft. Still, though.)

And it was on sale, and I was ordering a bra anyway. (Which I will wash on delicate cycle, and hope for the best.) And I'd asked for it before, but nobody really seemed to understand that this was my nightgown. In the past, I've written on a birthday list "[item] LIKE I'VE ASKED FOR THE LAST FIVE BIRTHDAYS" or something of the sort, since people don't seem to notice the same items repeating each year. Or timprov likes to give me The Last Present, in case there's something I wanted but didn't get, but this has usually meant books or maybe other media.

So I got myself my nightgown, and I will flitter around in it tonight and tomorrow morning and be all romantical and happy, and next time you think not a scrap, well...maybe a scrap.

And if you think I'm on about my new nightgown because I don't want to write this stupid damned synopsis or my new Chapter 2, shame on you. Shame, I say! You're right, but shame anyway, for thinking the worst of me.

Comments

[timprov.livejournal.com]

Er, if the fair folk were taking you outside on this kidnapping, you may want the psis. I'm just sayin'.

[mechaieh.livejournal.com]

I love standing-at-the-casement nightgowns. . .though my own current favorite is actually more of a standing-at-the-top-of-the-staircase-looking-alluring gown. (Casement gowns don't have the thigh-to-ankle slit to facilitate gliding about the house in high heels with a tumbler of Scotch...)

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

I hate high heels and Scotch, so that's right out. I also think of myself as not tall enough for that type of gown, even though people shorter than I have worn it to good effect. And what is perhaps worst, I am not a glider. Particularly where stairs are concerned. This evening I have had to face the fact that women of my general description (physical and personal) do not waft down stairs. We bounce, and must resign ourselves to bouncing.

Some people seem all right with bouncing, so I'm not too disconsolate on this point. And they make similarly silky materials into short little shifts which do just fine on bouncing-not-gliding types, so all is well in that regard.

I suspect, however, that gliding is never cute, whereas bouncing sometimes is. This makes me nervous.

[palinade.livejournal.com]

::wry grin:: I am not even of the bouncing type.

I am of the trip-skid-roll down-the-stairs-in-a-heap probably spraining an ankle or wrist in the process, messing up the oh-so-perfect coif and getting rug burn on the behind because the nightgown is rucked up around my midriff.

My middle name is "clumsy". I trip over my own shadow and clip the edge of doorframes for no discernable reason. I am no sprightly pixie--I think I am a Great Dane trapped in a Pekinese body.

If you ever saw me gliding, it's probably because I've stepped on a banana peel.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

When I was 10, I sprained my ankle in an attempt to walk backwards. I've improved since then, but still.

[palinade.livejournal.com]

I think I've been influenced by too many "magic doors to magical places" types of stories--I try very hard not to be caught without a sensible pair of shoes, jeans, shirt and jacket. I mean, if the end of the world happened tomorrow, I'd not want to be caught hiking over the Rockies towards the last bastion of civilization in flipflops and a tubetop. Or if I fell down a rabbit's hole, I certainly wouldn't want to wander through some strange unknown world in *gasp* a dress.

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

I am all about skirts that swish and float when you're walking. they should also bell out a little if you turn in a hurry, or, and this is just for example, spin in the middle of the kitchen until you're dizzy and have to sit down before you throw up.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

I have a stronger stomach than that totally random in every way example implies, so for me it's about hypothetically falling over and conking my head.

[tanaise.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I usually don't get sick spinning around either, but I do love that point where even when yuo close your eyes the world is still spinning around you. :)