Put a little love in your heart.

I was complaining to Spartacus and Lolita the other night. Saying that I didn't believe in love. That I was hopelessly jaded and jadedly hopeless. Spartacus (never one to let things slide) pointed out that I was wearing a choker with an enormous tin heart. Kind of contradictory, no?

Send a love letter to yourself. Or let these little doves bring them in pink and chartreuse envelopes. I love the pink shading on the birds' wings and tails and the grouping of the envelopes. This is a glorious 40s dress, but you can't have it. It sold the other day for $117.

Sorry I led you on like that. I meant to post it sooner, but alas. This one is still available though, and much more affordable.

Shirtwaist Valentine-themed dress. What I like best are the colors. Purple, light blue with touches of green make a nice counterpoint to the usual red and pink of Valentine branding. But that wasn't enough for me to post it. It's the check drawn on the Bank of Love that really gets to me. I have been longing for a financial dress. Pre-Euro European currency would be swell. Travelers checks would be ideal (Aren't those totally passé now that the world has an ATM on every corner?) Or even better, a print with copies of Marcel Duchamp's The Teeth's Loan and Trust Company Consolidated checks, a series of money art he created for in exchange for dental care.

This dress does double duty. I'd like to read the fine print on that check, though. Does it say: Void where prohibited? Not to be combined with other offers? Free with proof of purchase? What? I mean, what if Cupid's account is overdrawn? And if his check for unlimited kisses should bounce, what's the penalty charge you gotta pay the Bank of Love?

As Uncle Monty would say, some things are just too emotionally expensive.

I dined with Uncle Monty at his club last night. He has put me on a 90 day rehabilitation plan. Daily excercize, lots of fruit and veggies, lay off the booze, and find a harmless but charming new hobby. He says that at the end of 90 days I'll be a whole new Samsara. Oh but how I resent anything that cuts into my drinking.

And he says I must take myself off the market. That's right. No rebounding, no transference, no weirdness. No unlicensed Gestalt Therapy with strangers picked up on weekend-long benders. Just the 3 M's: Maintenance, Mediation and Media. That translates to yoga, a steady diet of Bette Davis movies, and finding a foundation that better matches my skintone.

In addition I must fix a number of problems that have plagued me for years. These include clutter, apartment repairs, and creditors. I must also elentlessly interrogate my habitual patterns and find their structural flaws.

This will keep me busy for sure. It sounds like the Great Leap Forward, doesn't it? Maybe I'll send myself to the countryside to be re-educated.

He assures me that after 90 days I'll feel differently about life and love.

"But how," I asked, "can I convert my almost crippling sorrow into fuel for self-improvement?"

"Go about it like Method Acting. You're already dressed like a reform school girl, " he said, indicating my pleated skirt, blouse and Windsor-knotted tie. "Reform!"

And so I have entered Uncle Monty's Academy for Wayward Girls. And I have a uniform. And homework. And top secret missions.

But aren't reform school girls always sneaking over the wall?

One last love frock, before we change the subject:

These polyester flower children have gone to a good home no doubt. I don't know why I didn't post this one sooner. Probably because I was feeling very down with love. Or thought it was too heteronormative. The color combination is surprizing and fun and the little Adam and Eve blend into the background a bit, unless you are looking for them. The flower placement on their bodies is hilarious.

Alas, this one sold long ago. Wouldn't it make an excellent second date dress?