I’m a bit of a girly-girl. (When I’m not being a tomboy.) So when I realized it would work out for me to go to the Christy Awards dinner–which is semi-formal–I began looking for a fancy dress.
Oh, I have a dress that would work but who wants to settle for that?? There aren’t a ton of options for in-person shopping around here, so I started on-line. Ugh. Do dresses not have sleeves anymore? And they mostly seemed to be either thigh-high or floor-length. Too much or too little.
So I DID try some places in town. A bridal store, the mall, some department stores. Ick. This did NOT feel like shopping for that prom dress back in high school. And honestly, there’s only so much time I’m willing to waste, er, invest in the hunt. So I was about to settle for ordering a dress that was the equivalent of ordering a nice salad when I was hoping for a juicy steak.
But first, I tried one more place. It’s a shop that sells both new and vintage clothing. And there it was. From the 1960s. Older than I am! The perfect black, silk, cocktail dress with a wide, boat neck, lace sleeves, and jet beads. But would it fit . . . ??
Like it was made for me! The girl who helped zip me up said it had been waiting for me. It had even been marked down because it hadn’t fit anyone else. Sold.
So does the dress really matter? I was ready to say it didn’t. That the writing, the joy of the award nomination, the opportunity to spend time with writing friends–that’s what matters. And it does. But when I slipped on a dress from 50+ years ago that fit beautifully I realized that yes, the dress does matter. And there’s no such thing as a detail too small for God to pay attention.