So fucking hot.
I drove from work to the Esquire to see "Fahrenheit 9/11" with a coworker, and in ten minutes and four miles, in my air-conditioned car, over my entire back my slip of a dress was entirely sweated onto my skin.
I just saw this movie and I'm going to talk about my dress. Okay? Okay.
I bought this dress in 1995. I wore it, with my Interview Suit linen pumps, to work (temping at MetraHealth), and went out to lunch with some coworkers, and on the street in Hartford, a man approached me and said he would have to arrest me. I said, "Excuse me?" sure I had misheard him. He clarified, "You look so fine, it has to be a crime!" and he laughed with his friend and I turned away with my coworkers and I am so oblivious and unfoxy that I had never heard that line before and so did not recognize it for what it was that I responded with even just the "excuse me."
It doesn't hang on me so well anymore. I liked my sheaths a lot more when they fell straight from bust to hem without my ass or hips in the way. But today it looked better again, because instead of my clunky Dansko sandals I wore a pair of slingbacks I bought over the weekend to go with the dress I bought for Haitch's wedding. They are much sexier.
Not really "instead of." I had both pairs with me and switched on and off during the day. The week before the Big Top is a bad time to break in pretty, impractical shoes.
The movie pissed me off--both the content, what I knew to be true and what I perceived to be allegation, and the presentation, see allegation. Then when I got home, it was so fucking hot that about the last thing I wanted to do was leave--leave the cool interior, leave my long-suffering buddy--to do anything, especially anything social. Swimming sounded good, but I had a dinner promise with a pre-friend whom I like well enough not to want to blow off for his sake and do not know well enough to blow off for being grumpy in the heat.
As soon as we got to Sabor Latino and the driving was over and cooled air embraced me, I felt better. We dished about the movie some and about Canadian politics--about which my mind is about as blank a canvas as the Northwest Territory, Territories? (my point)--and shared arepas and plantains and empiñadas and then I had ceviche. He had something with beans and cheese, even though it was 99 bloodsucking degrees out. Give me lime juice or give me death.
The food was excellent, and I am going back when I can be better company.