Bees deliver stinging fashion critique
The shirt is magnificent. It’s covered in huge red flowers that look so real you could pick them. The greens are green, the yellows are yellow, the reds are red. I’ve been told that when I wear it, I look like a cross between a centerpiece at a terrifically expensive wedding and a Carmen Miranda headpiece. I’m hoping that’s meant as a compliment.
Friends bought me the shirt as a present while they were on a two-week cruise through the Caribbean this past winter. Somehow, they thought that reminding me they got to take an expensive vacation and I didn’t would cheer me up. Or maybe they just wanted to rub it in. Still, the shirt is truly a work of art, not one of those cheap knockoffs made in some unheard-of Third World country. It was made in Pakistan, about which we hear plenty.
Much to Sue’s embarrassment, I wear this shirt a lot. When I dress up, I throw a blue blazer over it. No tie necessary. Many times, I am the only person in the entire room wearing anything nearly so cheerful. That was certainly true at Shirley Maxwell’s funeral.
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