The suit for the graduation

These days a phenomenon is occurring (why do I always want to emphasize so much) freak?) that someone will call Yankee, heteropatriarchal, or objectifying, and which to me is a malmsey. In various specialty stores, mothers, fathers, and teenage daughters go looking for their "prom dress." Before, it was the "coming-out" dress: the girl left behind her braids and short skirt and dressed as a "woman." Today, this long dress is for that day (about to turn eighteen or just turned eighteen) when they leave high school behind. It's so fun to watch mermaids of all types and conditions, of different heights, weights, and shapes emerge from the fitting rooms, clad in wine-colored, champagne-colored, light green, sky blue, navy blue, midnight black, or blood red scales! The saleswomen, as well as the mothers, some fathers, and other customers, discuss and applaud the decisions. "It looks beautiful on you!" says one. "This is it!" opines the other. "We'll have to get the hemlines," considers the one beyond. To the fitting room, some high heels so the young protagonist can step up and see their effect. Photo here to send to friends. "I don't want to match Clara's color," one complains. "A bow on the back, of course," the other asks.

A Midnight Cowboy There's a lovely phrase: "I'll go somewhere where the weather matches my clothes." The second part will be going to the hairdresser to get their hair done, and who knows, maybe even some makeup. That delightful frivolity indicates many things. Everything is fine, they can make this financial effort, there are no bombs around, they're healthy, they feel pretty, they understand, perhaps again, the idea of elegance, the neatness that comes with "moving" for an occasion. They send each other photos, they're happy, how lucky. The unknown mothers, feeling an uncontrollable sympathy for each other, laugh and joke, thinking yes, yes. The butterflies come out.