AND A PACK OF PLAYING CARDS . . .
And so my ensemble for graduation is decided: a black wrap dress, (the one that made Matt Marrowitz wag his tongue and say, "Geez, you look like a flapper or something!") (as if I have many dresses), nine black rubber bracelets, the old sunglasses (because they're more likely to cover my poor, tear-stained eyes), black flip flops (we must always shock the bourgeousie, as my old friend Baudelaire used to say), and a vintage black clutch containing a yellow embroidered handkerchief, a pen and a scrap of paper, a small vial of milk-and-honey lotion, a pocket mirror, and lipstick. And not so much eye makeup, on the offchance that I get enraged (which for me always means crying, no matter the circumstances.)
. . . for a rousing game of Mao during the speeches, of course.
And so my ensemble for graduation is decided: a black wrap dress, (the one that made Matt Marrowitz wag his tongue and say, "Geez, you look like a flapper or something!") (as if I have many dresses), nine black rubber bracelets, the old sunglasses (because they're more likely to cover my poor, tear-stained eyes), black flip flops (we must always shock the bourgeousie, as my old friend Baudelaire used to say), and a vintage black clutch containing a yellow embroidered handkerchief, a pen and a scrap of paper, a small vial of milk-and-honey lotion, a pocket mirror, and lipstick. And not so much eye makeup, on the offchance that I get enraged (which for me always means crying, no matter the circumstances.)
. . . for a rousing game of Mao during the speeches, of course.
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