Spanish Moss Lace Dress
“She rolled out of the swamp at exactly 3:33 pm, singing Linda Rondstadt like a mantra, not too loud, not too soft. When she spotted me, pop-eyed on the dock, she called, “Bonswa, bel bebe, you up to a fais-do-do?” It’s not everyday a selkie asks you to a party, so I said oui bon ma cherie, and off we went to gussy up. She was encroyable, let me tell you, silver hair to the heavens, hickory brown eyes, ample bosoms, and a luscious dove-gray skin, she started peeling off as soon as she hit mud. “I’m fit to dance it down ce soir, bebe, been too long.” Statuesque, she had just as much grace on land as she did in the water, sidling up to a bald cypress with a spanish moss toupe. She stashed her skin inside a hollow, reaching up to pull moss down in strips, beginning her enchantment. As she did, legions of fire ants trekked in crisscrosses up her scarred legs, settling in until, all of a sudden, she was sporting red hot thigh highs. If she noticed me noticing the scars she didn’t say anything. What’s a scar to someone like her? All manatees have them. I said a little charm of my own, when she wasn’t listening. Any boat that dared hit her again, would sink within the week. She was finishing up right quick with the glad rags, handing me the dress, one of a kind, just my size. She gave a little whistle and a cloud of local bees swooped in, zipping hither and thither till we both had a case of hive hair.
At moonrise we followed a snake of lanterns down wooden causeways, followed the smell of boiling fish, scarlet spice, and corn, followed the wheeze of accordion joy. Believe me, that lady could shake it! “Ooh la la!,” she trilled, spinning out of the arms of one bel homme into the grasp of another. She became a crimson hurricane kicking her boots out, calling for sweet summer wine. No one could hold her for long, though they could not stop watching her, longing etched into the creases of eyes, the set of mouths, as she sang the fiddles counterpoint, strong and clear. Belles and balls, and southern comfort, all rolled into one swamp-maid Queen. At moonset we trekked barefoot back to her tree, red-faced, limp haired, moonshine giggling. As she stripped out of her dress she hung it back up in the trees, moss once more. “You keep yours though, bebe,” she told me, buttoning up her grey skin coat, “bring me something real extravagant next time you come.” Two kisses, on two cheeks, then she had slipped into the slideshow of bayou morning, gone into the rippling dawn.”
Upcycled Vintage 1960’s Minidress- Silk Crepe Outer, Polyester Lining, Vintage and Antique Lace, Onyx and Glass Beads.
Shoulder to Shoulder = 14.5”
Bust (Laid Flat) = 15”
Underbust (Extra Small) = 13”
Hip = 18.5”
Length = 30”
There is very little stretch or give in this garment. In the nature of vintage garments there are some minor imperfections and wear.
“She rolled out of the swamp at exactly 3:33 pm, singing Linda Rondstadt like a mantra, not too loud, not too soft. When she spotted me, pop-eyed on the dock, she called, “Bonswa, bel bebe, you up to a fais-do-do?” It’s not everyday a selkie asks you to a party, so I said oui bon ma cherie, and off we went to gussy up. She was encroyable, let me tell you, silver hair to the heavens, hickory brown eyes, ample bosoms, and a luscious dove-gray skin, she started peeling off as soon as she hit mud. “I’m fit to dance it down ce soir, bebe, been too long.” Statuesque, she had just as much grace on land as she did in the water, sidling up to a bald cypress with a spanish moss toupe. She stashed her skin inside a hollow, reaching up to pull moss down in strips, beginning her enchantment. As she did, legions of fire ants trekked in crisscrosses up her scarred legs, settling in until, all of a sudden, she was sporting red hot thigh highs. If she noticed me noticing the scars she didn’t say anything. What’s a scar to someone like her? All manatees have them. I said a little charm of my own, when she wasn’t listening. Any boat that dared hit her again, would sink within the week. She was finishing up right quick with the glad rags, handing me the dress, one of a kind, just my size. She gave a little whistle and a cloud of local bees swooped in, zipping hither and thither till we both had a case of hive hair.
At moonrise we followed a snake of lanterns down wooden causeways, followed the smell of boiling fish, scarlet spice, and corn, followed the wheeze of accordion joy. Believe me, that lady could shake it! “Ooh la la!,” she trilled, spinning out of the arms of one bel homme into the grasp of another. She became a crimson hurricane kicking her boots out, calling for sweet summer wine. No one could hold her for long, though they could not stop watching her, longing etched into the creases of eyes, the set of mouths, as she sang the fiddles counterpoint, strong and clear. Belles and balls, and southern comfort, all rolled into one swamp-maid Queen. At moonset we trekked barefoot back to her tree, red-faced, limp haired, moonshine giggling. As she stripped out of her dress she hung it back up in the trees, moss once more. “You keep yours though, bebe,” she told me, buttoning up her grey skin coat, “bring me something real extravagant next time you come.” Two kisses, on two cheeks, then she had slipped into the slideshow of bayou morning, gone into the rippling dawn.”
Upcycled Vintage 1960’s Minidress- Silk Crepe Outer, Polyester Lining, Vintage and Antique Lace, Onyx and Glass Beads.
Shoulder to Shoulder = 14.5”
Bust (Laid Flat) = 15”
Underbust (Extra Small) = 13”
Hip = 18.5”
Length = 30”
There is very little stretch or give in this garment. In the nature of vintage garments there are some minor imperfections and wear.