The summer between first and second grade, I had the most beautiful red and white checked outfit my Great Aunt Adele gave me. I insisted on wearing it quite often.
That would have been fine, if the outfit had not been long sleeved and wool, and had I not been living in Phoenix, home of the 122 degree day.
I understood quite well, when the littlest slave to fashion took a wardrobe stand.
Sunday it didn’t quite reach 122, but it was at least 114. I’m not sure where she found it (maybe the same pile from which baby Skylar emerged?) but at one point in the afternoon, Sophie plunked a thick, fluffy white hat on her head and refused to take it off. It actually looked pretty cute with her skimpy striped sundress. She wanted to wear it to dinner at Grandma’s, so I let her.
That thing was off her head within seconds after I’d plunked her in the car seat.
Who’s the dummy? Not Sophie. I wore that red and white checked outfit for an entire summer; at least it felt that way. I wish I still had it. I’d wear it today.