My latest idiotic theory is that women in sundresses lead charmed lives. And I’m going to find myself a darling sundress this summer to test out my hypothesis.
Last week we took a day trip to the Mystic, CT Aquarium, and I noticed all of the women in dresses did not appear to be sweating despite the 95 degree heat and very high humidity. None of their children were sulking, running away from them, or kicking them in the shins. This seemed like a good thing. I wondered, perhaps, if the shape of the dresses, and the way they floated around the women’s legs, created some sort of a hypnotizing effect. Unfortunately for me, my utilitarian chino shorts were clinging to my every move as I felt beads of sweat merge into estuaries on my legs before racing one another to see which one would run into my sandal first. For the record, my right side was sweating more efficiently than my left.
As our family melted between one exhibit and the next, I found myself noticing the grace with which the sundressed visitors moved through the crowds. They were not annoyed when their little Sadie wanted to press the button which showed the phosphorescent fish repeatedly. No creeping edge of irritation entered their voice as they reminded Sadie, again, that she should let other children try it too. They didn’t even seem to mind my irritation at their Sadie-cherub for making life with my own fallen angel, who was desperate to try the damn glow-in-the-dark button for himself, a bit less lovely. I began to wonder if the dresses were lined with Valium.
If I find one that I can walk in without tripping, I’ll let you know.