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Every once in a while, I gaze into my closet in the hopes of seeing something that might actually fit me, or that will suddenly transform me into a 5 ft 10 inch super model. Neither wish is any closer to being granted. However, I have the sneaking suspicion that my wardrobe has a rather engaging social life, full of balls and parties every night (just like those awaiting Lydia Bennet with the officers in Brighton). For instance, I ran across this 50s/60s inspired cocktail dress while rummaging through the bedroom last evening.

I’m uncertain who was supposed to wear it, or where it was going, but it’s very cute. Perhaps I was shopping in a fugue state and unaware that I’m usually much less formally attired while watching House Hunters? Perhaps someone younger and more playful bought it, and it has been buried in a time capsule for years? Of course, there is a possibility that I was having nightmares about being stuck on the set of Mad Men with nothing to wear, and quickly updated my wardrobe. In reality, the most likely explanation is that my closet is making its own decisions, and helpfully expelling in my direction hints about what my life should look like, rather than what it does.

That’s fine. But it should be warned that if the next thing out the door is a wedding dress, I’m torching it and starting over.

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