Better Than a Flashing Marquee

When Munkay puts on THE SUN DRESS, she wants attention. See previous blog.

Every woman has such an outfit. It may not be a dress, and she may never wear it, but hanging in every girls closet is such an ensemble. The dress that will get us noticed. It is not quite appropriate and would never be descibed at modest. It is the outfit that if you had a daughter, you would not let her wear. Nor would you show it to your mom. Or anyone from your school district or any religious affliction you may hold.

Mine is a red strappy sundress. A little too snug and a couple inches too short. All that is left to the imagination when I put on this dress is the amount of trouble I will cause by wearing it. It makes both men and women check me out. Men love it. Women love the dress and hate their men for the whiplash it causes them as their crane their heads for a better look. Not only do I want attention when wearing this dress, I expect it. I rarely have cause to wear it now. Only when I need an esteem boost or nothing else is clean. It is not a dress I can pull off when I am having a bad day. No slouching in this dress. Slip on this dress and I am Marilyn Monroe, Erica Kane, Tyra Banks and Beyonce all wrapped into one. Danger wrapped in red.

Knowing the power of my dress, and not having done laundry in a couple of weeks, I slipped it on to run errands and break hearts. After frolicking like I had no sense and causing mischief galore, I picked my kids up from school before one final stop at a shopping meca. We are walking across the parking lot, me in front and the boys far behind me arguing over their purchases. As I near my jeep I hear the wizzing sound of skateboard wheels shortly before a group of teenage boys come shooting out from behind the row of parked vehicles. I smile as the cat calls and wolf whistles begin. "Hi", I chirp cheerfully as they pass, thinking I reconizing them. They are a couple years older than my my oldest son, K1. "Is that K1's mom mumble mumble?", I barely make out as they are not behind me. "No way", is the reply I hear. Then "Hi K!" "I told you it was", in an embassed and disgusted tone.

On the way home K1 asked me not to wear the dress again. Maybe it is time to retire my pistol.