Miss Portland

For those of you without kids, a playgroup is just how it sounds: it's a group of kids and their primary caregivers who get together on a weekly basis to play. And we do indeed play. 

Playgroup is my mid-week haven. It's a day when the Caped Crusader will run off with friends while I reclaim some precious time to sit on a couch and chat about some seriously random stuff with really cool moms. I love it. And I desperately want our playgroup routine to remain the same for, oh, about the next 14 years. 

But something recently happened which threw a wrench into our smooth sailing tribe:  one of the moms decided to get pregnant. 

Hmph! This was not part of the master playgroup plan. I mean, the playgroup is its own entity--it has needs. And a future damp, googley-eyed worm--this toothless, hairless human--was the one holding the wrecking ball.

The thought was so beautiful and sweet that, in between giggles, the other moms and I decided to celebrate the intruder's entry into this world with a baby shower. And I required a dress for the special celebration.

I found one (Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! SILK!) at my neighborhood thrift store. The dress and I exchanged a steady gaze. There was something vaguely familiar about it... Like an old friend...

Then it hit me. This was a dress I might have worn in my Miss Portland days--my carefree, twenty-something years when nerdy-cool was hip and the standard accessories included a barrette, thick-framed glasses, white tights and Mary Jane shoes (and if you wanted to upgrade the look, you donned several tattoos and/or body piercings). This was a time when I used to make miniskirts out of vintage polyester fabric, and pair them with tight raver shirts and fake patent leather Mary Janes, so stiff I could tap dance in 'em; then I'd hop into Handsome's hand-me-down car, named The Corn Tortilla, and we'd head straight to the 1201, the hippest (and possibly smokiest) bar in town.

This dress was the '90's revisited! And it was soooo Portland. But--yikes!--the dress' youthful vigor was too much for my nearly forty-year old self. 

This Miss needed to be tamed into a Ms. And I needed to prove to my old friend who was boss. Let's see what I did...