Who loses a red feather boa? I just now posted that as my Facebook status after repeating it in my head 7,348 times (approximately) while looking in all the likely spots and several unlikely spots not once but several times. I found two padfolios (isn’t that a word?), several headbands, countless dust bunnies (don’t judge me, but you may judge my housekeeping) and, most usefully for tonight, my yellow beaded bag. But no red feather boa. I HATE it when that happens!
We felt fine, yes.
It was in 2017 when I last wore the thing. This is me and my friend, Kim, at a Prohibition Party at Gerber’s 1933 Tavern in Utica, NY. Fun times. The ironic thing (as if I don’t get enough irony in my diet!) is that I spent all day wishing I had some other color of boa than red. Now I would be SO thankful to find the red one! There’s a lesson here somewhere, but one is generally not receptive to lessons when one has been stomping around the entire house looking for an elusive costume piece.
So I guess this is a Wrist to Forehead Saturday post. I have paused in my searching to drink some water (one can withstand most things, even frustration and self-loathing, if one remains hydrated) and make my blog post. Eventually I must begin getting ready for Ritz and Ragtime at Rutger Park. I think I have an outfit I can stand wearing. I can even bear to go without the boa. I didn’t wear a boa when I dressed as Ruby in Rubbed Out at Ruby’s. At least I know where my long holder and fake cigarette are. And one must not discount the self-confidence-enhancing benefits of a yellow beaded bag.
Mohawk Valley Girl 