Debutante Dress on The Blind Hem
I slouched on the stepping stool with a box of Triscuits in my hand, a hangover wedged somewhere between my eyes and frontal lobe and a wedding gown flowing past my feet. My mother ordered me to stand up straight while Van Ty, a seamstress who has done my grandma’s clothing alterations for years, tucked and pinned the dress so it would fit just right.
words © Caroline Cox
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