Is it just a fancy word for short skirt?”
“The way they say it, it’s like a fringed cape. Not a flapper dress, though.”
He looked over at me. “You really like your skirts, don’t you?”
It was a question that would not die.
I felt him watching through me. What would I say? It is what he does.
“You see how I said I don’t like skirts?” he said. “They don’t suit me.”
“Yes they do!” I said. “I don’t like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like, like!” I didn’t know what that was getting at.
“And why do you like them, don’t you?”
“I want to get better at dancing,” I said.
“Dancing? Is that what you like, or your skirts.”
And that was the end of the flapper dress discussion. I didn’t get better at dancing, though. I didn’t understand dances so well. But I did learn to get good at flapping my skirt around. I learned to dance around and around and around.
And the flapper dress continued to be a source of fascination for the rest of my life, because it was so flimsy. And I still had trouble getting good at it. It was a challenge. The skirt kept getting caught on my hips every now and again. I was going to end up with a very old man-sized skirt. All I wanted was to get it out of my way.
That was before I was married. When I was a teenager, I came up with a pretty clever solution. I was going to buy a couple of pairs of flip-flops. I thought the idea was interesting, but I didn’t really find it to be very useful. I would need a new pair every time I went to bed, and I found they did nothing to slow me down during the day. It was fine for when I was on my own, but there weren’t many nights where I could afford to throw away the original pair as quickly as I could throw away the new pair.
“Do you know anything about flip-flops?” a friend asked once. I was 18
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