. . . National Girlfriends Day, Wed., August 1st.
Today I’m thinking about a red dress. A perfect red, somewhere between fire engine and wine. Fitted button-down bodice edged in a ruffle made from the same soft cotton as the dress. The skirt was full, a little flounce to it, above the knee. I was twelve (give or take a year) and my best friend and I had gone shopping together, downtown Brooklyn, Abraham & Strauss. We both tried on the dress, loved it, bought it. We were not (quite) the same size, but that didn’t keep us from an occasional swap, some special occasion demanding a garment too perfect not to be shared. This would be taking friendship to another level, wearing the same beautiful dress. Almost twins.
Only a funny thing happened when I got home and hung it in my closet. Red was a favorite color of mine, and maybe it did dominate my wardrobe (my grandmother thought there was a communist lurking in me). But something about having the exact same dress as my very best friend suddenly struck me as not quite right. I returned the dress, my friend kept hers.
Continue here. . .